The BLTS Archive -  Ice Storm
by Maddie (mystwood60@hotmail.com)

---

Published: 03-22-01

Updated: 04-03-01

This story takes place early in the Voyager series and is set some
time after "Investigations" but before "Basics, Part 2". Originally
printed in the hardcopy fanzine We'll Always Have Paris, published by
Unicorn Press, 1997.  The usual disclaimers apply. Paramount owns the
Voyager universe and the characters of Paris and Kes. Melchor and the
plot are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism, always welcome.  

---

Jerking his head upward with a start, he shook the fog from his mind,
then blinked in the brilliant sunshine. Disoriented, he closed his
eyes and lay back on the warm stone wondering what had startled him
awake. Then he remembered, it had been a deep rumbling sound. His eyes
shot open and he rolled his head to the left where she still sat,
meticulously cataloguing plant samples, just as she had been doing
when he had drifted.

"Awake?" Kes asked, not looking up from her work, her delicate
fingers, flitting across the padd in her hand. The corners of her
mouth twitched as laughter threatened to engulf her features, her eyes
twinkling.

"Uh..." Brilliant, some part of his mind told him, brilliant repartee,
but he could not quite get his voice to cooperate. "Yeah." He finally
managed. The flat, broad rock he lay on was baked warm by the midday
sun, and despite its hardness, felt incredibly comfortable. He rolled
over to face the young Ocampa. "I think. Did I fall asleep?" he asked,
his voice rising in the annoying way it did when he was caught off
guard and embarrassed.

Then Kes did laugh, her face alight with impish glee. "Yes," she said
through the giggles. "Right in mid sentence."

"Uh..." he mumbled again. "What were we talking about?"

Kes barely controlled her laughter. "You had asked if we had found
anything interesting, and I was very excited about the medicinal
potential of some of the plant samples we collected, as well as their
food value. Somewhere around sentence three, you...fell asleep. Rather
loudly."

"Loudly?"

"Yes, Tom Paris. Loudly." Again Kes battled the giggles edging into
her voice. "Did anyone ever tell you, you snore?"

Paris rolled to his back and closed his eyes again. "Not in the recent
half century?" he answered blearily.

"Well, your secret is safe with me." Kes said.

Reluctant to sit up, yet, not wanting to get caught napping by any
other members of the away team Paris dragged his eyes open. Kes had
continued to work as they talked, reducing the pile of plant samples
in front of her to data in her tricorder. Sunshine glinted off her
hair, tangling in the stands of fine gold and shimmering like a mystic
halo. Sitting cross-legged in the secluded glade in which they had
paused to rest, surrounded by the delicate greens and dappled shadows,
she looked for all the world like the fairies and sprites in the story
tapes he had read as a child. Her delicate upswept ears and pixy
features, her petite form, all lending credence to the fantasy.

Paris found himself smiling.

"We're not here for a picnic, Paris."

Kes jumped, startled by the intruding voice, her eyes widened, and a
faint blush colored her cheeks.

---

Kes felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and burn momentarily hot, then
realized she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She stared up at the
intruder who had emerged from the underbrush behind Paris, then let
out a soft sigh. It was only Lieutenant Melchor, the mission
specialist for the away team, a member of the Starfleet crew, he had
originally trained as an engineer, but was also a very talented
botanist who had proven invaluable on more than one foraging
expedition. She smiled and started to speak, to explain to Melchor
that it had been her suggestion to rest, when she caught the look on
Paris' face. It was a mask she had not seen him wear in her presence
recently, the one he had worn the first time she had seen him,
standing in the background ebb and flow on board Voyager, observing
what transpired around him with detached interest colored with cynical
amusement. The veiled blue eyes, and smirking half grin, were
expressions she had come to associate with the "old" Tom Paris.

Before she could speak, Paris pushed lazily to a half-sitting position
making no effort to stand. Melchor circled the flat rock on which the
pilot reclined to stand so they faced one another. Kes could feel the
unexpressed tension in the air, see it on the faces of the two men
before her, and read the unspoken confrontation in Paris'
insubordinate posture. Leaning casually back on one elbow, carelessly
flicking a tiny pebble from the stone surface in front of him, his
eyes challenged Melchor as his silence did.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Paris questioned, his phrasing an
intentionally laconic drawl.

Kes could sense the sudden stiffening in Melchor's posture, though his
face reflected no emotion.

"You didn't answer my hail," Melchor said evenly. "Now I understand
why."

Paris laughed, shook his head, then lay back down, his eyes closed.
"You have an overactive imagination, Merritt."

At the casual use of his first name, Melchor's face did flush with
anger. He resents the familiarity, or perhaps, Kes thought, he prefers
to have people, Paris in particular, defer to his rank.

"That fact remains that you did not respond, and in doing so might
have seriously jeopardized your safety, along with that of your
partner, and myself, since I had to come looking for you."

"The fact remains," Paris said sharply, sitting up and facing Melchor,
"that we weren't hailed."

"The channel was open. I placed the hail myself."

"But we didn't receive it," Kes intervened, attempting to diffuse the
situation. "We really didn't. What did you need to tell us?"

Melchor turned sharply, his voice controlled, but the color in his
face rising.

"This discussion is between Lieutenant Paris and myself."

Paris came quickly to his feet, stepping close to Melchor, but keeping
his hands carefully by his sides. "The lady asked a question." Paris'
inflection was light, but his demeanor backed his apparently frivolous
tone with a belligerent attitude that only a blind man would fail to
comprehend. "It would be polite to answer."

Melchor did not respond, and the ensuing the silence was taut with
anger, drawn thinner as each second passed until it would surely reach
a breaking point. The two men stood face to face, within inches of
each other, but not touching, and Kes held her breath, not wanting to
fuel the obvious resentment.

Finally, Melchor retreated a single step, and although neither man
altered his posture in any other way, the 'giving in' was
accomplished. Melchor took a single deep breath then turned to Kes,
anger still coloring his voice and his manner, though his words were
properly phrased. He spoke directly to her, ignoring Paris. "We've
received word from Voyager. Their surface scans indicate a large
concentration of broad leafed plants similar to specimens belonging to
the Order Aramaecae. We've had some luck extracting a chematotrophin
from the roots of like plants that might be of value in prolonging the
health of the gel packs."

"I'm familiar with the studies you've been doing. They're quiet
brilliant," Kes added, gently nudging Melchor away from his angry
encounter with Paris now that she had him talking. "Where exactly are
the plants located?"

"Approximately one point five kilometers south of here. A very large
stand. Since you seem most adept at cataloguing this type of sample, I
would like you to proceed there."

Kes, nodded, then looked past Melchor to where Paris now stood, arms
crossed on his chest, silent but wary. She sensed he wanted to ask a
question, and guessed its nature. "I'm still puzzled as to why we did
not receive either your transmission or the one from Voyager," Kes
said. "The ship should be broadcasting on a broad, open channel."

Melchor shrugged, "The solar flare activity we noted when we took
orbit has increased dramatically. Communications are all but
impossible, surface scans are becoming indistinct, which is why they
wanted us to investigate from here, and transporters are also having
problems locking on to surface personnel because of the irradiated
particles in the ionosphere. They used a tightly focused comm channel
to contact the primary mission shuttle."

"Is there any immediate danger to the away team." Paris asked, his
voice cautiously neutral, but leaving no doubt his word was final in
any matter concerning crew safety.

Still not looking directly at Paris, Melchor answered, "Voyager didn't
think so. Shuttle performance will not be affected. Surface radiation
levels are also stable. We're only having problems with communications
and to a limited extent, sensors and transporters."

"Any additional orders from the Captain?" Paris asked.

Melchor cast a sidelong glance at the helmsman, the spoke directly to
Kes. "No other changes in our original schedule. We plan on leaving
the planet's surface approximately one hour before dark."

"Then we have plenty of time to investigate that stand of Aramaecae."
Kes said, finding it difficult to hide her enthusiasm. Besides, she
thought, better to ease these two apart before they start sparring
again. Gathering up her tricorder, she took a step between the two
men.

"Make sure the other members of the away team are aware of the
communications problem," Paris said.

Melchor nodded once, before he turned to leave, Kes saw an odd
expression pass over his face. She was not sure if it was relief, or
satisfaction, and she felt a sudden chill of apprehension, as swift
and fleeting an impression as the touch of a cool breeze. Then the
feeling, and Melchor were gone. Turning to Paris, she found him
staring at the patch of underbrush into which Melchor had disappeared.

"He's good at appearing and disappearing," Kes said, trying to
recapture the comfortable, relaxed interlude they had shared before
Melchor's intrusion.

"Like a snake." Paris still wore the same expression he had when
Melchor first appeared, removed, yet wary.

"What is it, Tom?"

He did not answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a sarcastic
imitation of a smile. "Long story, Kes."

Reaching out she lay her hand on his arm, "Its a long walk." Turning
him, she started out in the direction Melchor had indicated. "I can
listen."

---

Paris followed as Kes passed effortlessly through the underbrush, her
sense of direction uncanny and unerring. He wondered how a species
that had spent most of the last five centuries buried underground in
rigidly controlled environmental conditions could possess such an
innate ability to deal with the natural environment. They had traveled
a little more than half a kilometer when the shrubs and low growth
thinned and Kes slowed her pace, allowing him to walk beside her. As
they walked she had continued to collect and catalogue plant samples,
the soft bleep and whir of her tricorder the only unnatural sound.

"So?" she asked at last, breaking the silence.

Paris shrugged, looking down into her concerned blue eyes and feeling
decidedly uncomfortable. Kes did not need to know what Melchor thought
of him, and vice versa. "It really was nothing," he said smiling his
most disarming grin. "A misunderstanding."

He felt Kes' hand on his arm, the slight squeeze of her fingers. Then
she stopped, and pulled him to a stop as well. "You forget, Tom, I may
be very good at observation, but I'm also an empath, even if only a
latent one. What I saw...what I felt was not 'nothing'. Melchor's
resentment runs deep."

"Yes," Paris agreed. "But that isn't so different, now is it?"

He saw the sadness shadow across her face, darkening the clear blue of
her eyes and turning her mouth downward. "I thought things had gotten
better since...the incident with Michael Jonas?"

Paris shook his head, a sardonic half smile creasing his handsome
features. I had hoped they would, he thought silently, aware he was
doing a poor job of hiding his feelings from Kes. The concern in her
face was more cutting than Melchor's attitude or words. "Some people
will never stop thinking of me as an outsider, Kes. It doesn't matter
what I do or say." So I've stopped trying to convince them otherwise,
he added to himself.

"Melchor is one of those." Kes asked, her hand on his arm tightening
slightly.

Paris nodded.

"Tell me." Kes eyebrows drew together, her expression that of an old
fashioned school marm, stern and demanding. Paris was not going to get
out of telling her that easily.

With a sigh, Paris shook his head again, then smiled, a warm genuine
smile, touched by Kes' heartfelt concern.

"It goes back to the Alpha Quadrant, Kes. Back to when I first came
aboard Voyager. Things were different. Attitudes were different. It
wasn't Maquis versus Starfleet then, it was more like Starfleet versus
Tom Paris." With rare exceptions, he thought. Like Harry. "Everyone
seemed to know who I was and what I'd done. Some were more blatant
about expressing their dislike. Doctor Fitzgerald, Cavit, even Stadi.
Others were more subtle, but the feeling was there. I was the
outsider, an 'observer' and nothing more. Forever watching what I
couldn't have." Paris cut off the words, stemming the bitterness, that
never quite went away, the burden he would never completely shed, as
long as someone remembered the Alpha Quadrant. He did not want that to
sour his relationship with Kes. A relationship he had come to cherish,
even though, he was, once again, all too much the outsider, observing
what he could never possess.

The touch of Kes' fingers on his cheek, a feather light brush of
fingertips, yet as jolting as a phaser on full stun, brought him back.
She still waited patiently.

"Melchor," he said simply, as thought the name itself was explanation.
"I had a hard time figuring him out. He's one of those people who fade
into the background. You never know they're there. Never know what
they're thinking."

"He's Starfleet." Kes commented when he paused again.

"Yeah. A good 'fleeter. Steady. Dependable. But nothing outstanding."
The kind of loyal, unquestioning crewman Dad would have loved, he
thought. A model officer. Never out of line. And never brilliant.

"A follower." Kes said again.

Paris nodded. "That's how I always read him. He was one of Cavit's
puppies. Liked what Cavit liked. Disliked what Cavit disliked."

"And Cavit disliked you?" Kes forehead creased with concern.

"Look, Kes," Paris smiled, trying to lighten her dismal mood. "That's
all ancient history. This is the Delta Quadrant. Cavit is no longer
here."

"But the resentment and anger are."

Paris cocked his head to one side, took a deep breath, and continued.
"I don't know. Maybe he blames me for Michael Jonas' death." He tried
to make the statement sound flat, emotionless, as though the
possibility was of no concern. The last thing he wanted was for Kes to
worry. As soon as he had said the words he knew he had made a mistake.

Kes stepped back, "But you had nothing to do with that. Neelix..."

"Yeah, Neelix may have been the one who pushed Jonas into the warp
core, but I'm the one who pushed until Jonas' activities were exposed.
Neelix just came in on the tail end of things. Wrong place at the
wrong time."

"I didn't know Melchor and Jonas were friends."

"Surprised me too," Paris said. "Seems they were extremely close
friends. Jonas never struck me as the charismatic type, but Melchor
was stuck to him like an old coon hound to its master."

Kes walked a few paces away, then turned to face Paris, her hands
clasped tightly in front of her, her body stiff with tension. "Do you
think he knew what Jonas was doing? Transmitting information to the
Kazon."

Paris shrugged. "Melchor was too loyal to Starfleet to be a spy. And
in all honesty, I doubt he had the imagination. But, I don't know. I
just know he isn't too fond of me. Probably wishes Neelix's allegation
that I was the spy was the truth. "

Stepping closer to Kes, Paris took her firmly by the shoulders.  "Now
let's forget him. Enjoy what's left of the day. We may not see
planetside again for weeks."

Kes smiled, then nodded. Taking out her tricorder she slipped free of
his grip and quickly scanned the area. "That stand of Aramaecae is
just on top of a slight rise. A few minutes more in this direction."

Turning, the Ocampa moved off in the direction they had been walking,
her step light and apparently carefree, caught again in the joy of
exploring. Paris watched for a moment, envious of her ability to find
pleasure so easily in simple things. He tried to convince himself the
incident with Melchor was a passing irritation, something that might
never go away, but need not hang like a dark cloud over his every
move. He was not very successful. Breaking into a dog trot, he jogged
after the receding back of his companion.

---
The Calm Before . . .
---


Kes heard the soft crackle of footfalls on the dry leaves littering
the ground, and resisted the urge to turn around, concentrating
instead on the readings she was taking, pretending her heart did not
lurch each time he came close. She did not want him to see how upset
she had been by the encounter with Melchor. Paris had brushed off the
incident, but she knew it had bothered him more than his casual manner
belied. Although she could not read his thoughts, she sensed his
emotions with uncanny accuracy, an ability she had acquired as their
relationship developed, and which had intensified when she had
realized how deeply he cared for her. The same emotional affinity
existed between her and Neelix, and also, to some extent, with Captain
Janeway.

But it was Melchor, more than Paris, who had disturbed her. His
animosity was almost palpable, focused directly at Tom, and so
intense, the emotion was painful even to her immature senses. Mixed
with the anger was a great sense of loss and pain that twisted the
anger into a smoldering rage. Paris did not appear to feel threatened,
in fact he seemed resigned to Melchor's attitude, yet it made her
strangely uneasy, even fearful. It was the fear she wished to hide
from Paris. He had dealt with the reactions of his fellow crewmen far
longer than she had, and she knew she must trust his judgment in this
case. If he felt there was no danger, that the anger would eventually
fade, then she must calm her own inner misgivings.

Carefully schooling her features so that none of her apprehension
showed in her expression, she turned to Paris. He stood quietly behind
her, hands behind his back, the rate of his breathing slightly
elevated, his demeanor relaying a patient, yet expectant boredom.

"Just a few more feet," she said brightly continuing to monitor the
read-out from her tricorder. "The readings are very encouraging. I'm
already detecting high levels of a chematotrophin very similar to the
one Melchor has isolated. This particular organic chemical actually
seems to increase the flow of electrons through the gel packs by
reducing resistance, thereby prolonging the viability of the packs, by
eliminating some of the wear."

She looked up from her tricorder just as Paris stifled another yawn.
Looking rather sheepish, he cocked his head with a 'can't help it'
expression on his face.

Kes laughed. "I'm sorry, Tom. This probably makes no sense to you at
all."

"Actually, it makes perfect sense. It just isn't very interesting."

"Why do they make you come on these away teams anyway, Tom? Your
talents could be put to better use. I could have flown this mission
myself. It was completely routine and would have been good experience
for me."

"You know we all have to take our turn as part of the foraging
missions." Paris appeared to be forcing his best innocent look.

"But I've noticed you have a way of always being absent when your duty
rotation comes around, and your place is taken by another crewman."
Kes thought of trying to look stern, but doubted she could keep a
straight face long enough.

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows arching upward in mock surprise.

"Really," Kes answered. "So what's your secret. Replicator rations for
bribes. Holodeck programs in exchange for taking your place. Hmm? And
why didn't it work this time?"

Paris cleared his throat, neither acknowledging nor denying her
allegation.

Kes shook her head and smiled with exasperation. "Tom, when will you
ever learn. So who caught you? Chakotay?"

"Caught? Me? Never." Paris grinned.

"Tom." Kes found his grin both charming and disarming. "Obviously that
tactic doesn't work with Chakotay," she said, sensing she had guessed
correctly. Paris was apparently doing penance for his past avoidance
of this particular task. She felt the urge to verbally chastise him.
It was one thing to earn Chakotay's anger with his antics when he was
working under direct orders of the Captain, but continuing to do so
after he had apparently been vindicated was tempting fate.

As though aware of her thoughts, Paris brought his hand out from
behind his back. In it he held a tiny red flower plucked from the
forest undergrowth. "Don't worry, Kes. Believe it or not, I
volunteered for this one. Figured I would get to spend the day in your
company."

Before Kes could react, Paris stepped closer and tucked the blossom
behind her ear. "There, see, I do know something about the proper use
of the local flora. Makes being part of the Nut and Berry Brigade
worth the boredom."

"Nut and Berry Brigade?" Kes asked, laughter creeping into her voice
once more.

Paris held out his empty hands, palms upward in a gesture of futile
resignation. "That's what some of our crewmen have dubbed the away
teams that go on these foraging expeditions."

Kes smiled and was about to ask which crewman, though she suspected
she knew the answer to that question, when a shudder passed through
her.

Frowning with concern Paris, stepped closer, "Kes, is something wrong.
You look like someone just walked over your grave."

Kes nodded, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression. "Just a cold draft.
Very sudden. I was chilled." Kes felt herself shiver again. The rapid
drop in temperature, seemed particularly sharp as the cool air wrapped
its chilling fingers around skin still warm from the sun. "Didn't you
notice?"

Paris shook his head. "No."

Of course he wouldn't, Kes admonished herself. His uniform was far
warmer than the short sleeved tunic she wore, and she had felt the
cold caress of wind on the bare skin of her arms. "It took me by
surprise," she said. "There it is again. Is there supposed to be a
change in the weather?"

"Voyager would have alerted us of any major changes--" Paris stopped
in mid sentence.

"But communications--" Kes continued his statement.

"Have you been monitoring atmospheric conditions at all?"

Kes shook her head. "No. There was no need. My tricorder was set for
bio scan."

---

Paris noticed the change around them, not as a drop in temperature,
but a shift in the feel and scent of the air. The warm, musty
fragrance of the dropped leaves and rich earth beneath their feet, the
soft fragrance of flowers and spicy scent of living foliage, gave way
to the sharp, metallic tang of the wind before a summer storm. The
atmosphere seemed charged, on the verge of exploding, and now he, too,
felt the cooling.

He looked at Kes, her face suddenly pale in the golden light that
still filtered through the broken canopy overhead. Her eyes had
widened with concern, and she passed her tricorder to him. Scanning
the area in a three hundred and sixty degree arc around their current
position, he stopped, facing north, unwilling to trust the instrument
reading.

"Paris to Voyager," he snapped, as his hand slapped the communicator
badge on his chest. There was no answer, just the steady hiss of
static from the open comm line, occasionally punctuated by a crack of
stronger interference. "Paris to Melchor." Again, no response. "Maybe
if we get clear of this overgrowth," he said briefly, then without
further explanation, he headed toward the rocky outcrop that rose from
the forest floor ahead of them. Scrambling up its surface, aware that
Kes was matching him step for step, he reached the top, faced north,
and felt as though he faced the furies themselves.

The northern sky churned black with heavy clouds, roiling towards them
with unstoppable energy. He could taste the ionized sharpness in the
air, feel the rapid cooling around him. In the distance rain sheeted
downward, cascading across the land in shimmering curtains.

"Paris to Melchor," he repeated. And this time there was a response,
an inaudibly garbled message, but definitely a voice. Paris could only
make out two words, words he didn't need to be told. 'ice storm.'

"Melchor," Paris spoke as distinctly as he could, knowing his attempt
was futile even as he spoke. "Warn the other away teams. Clear the
planet's surface before the storm endangers the shuttles. Kes and I
will attempt to reach your position, but don't wait. We'll find
shelter if necessary. Do you hear."

Again there was a garbled response. Looking once more to the north,
gauging with a pilot's senses the speed of the approaching storm,
Paris glanced again at his companion. "We gotta move and fast," he
said.

She nodded without speaking, and he led a headlong dash down the side
of the rock formation, then hit the ground running.

---
Shelter
---


They had covered barely a kilometer when the storm's leading edge
overtook their position. Though Kes had no trouble keeping up with
Paris, she did not refuse the hand he reached back to her, was
grateful for the firm clasp of his fingers around hers, pulling her
forward, though she needed no encouragement to move faster. The wind
driven rain lashed her bare arms like the needle spray of a cold
shower, and despite the fact that they were running as fast as the
undergrowth would permit, she felt the cold penetrating her clothing.
A misty fog rose around them as the icy water struck the humid forest
floor, but the fog soon gave way to torrents of rainfall that soaked
her to the skin, trickling down her face and into her eyes, so she
could barely see.

When they were still more than a kilometer from the shuttle landing
site, the rain turned, with perverse suddenness, to a mixture of sleet
and freezing rain, a rude and frightening contrast to the warmth that
had encircled them just an hour before. She barely remembered passing
the isolated glade where they had stopped to rest earlier in the day,
or the woodland they had explored before that. With head down, she
followed Paris blindly, trusting his sense of direction, knowing he
would get them to the shuttle in time. So intent was she on keeping
pace with him that she slammed into his back when he stopped abruptly.

Stepping to his side, she squinted into the icy torrent. They had
reached the landing area. She recognized the trees and rocks she had
so carefully used to memorize the position several hours ago. She felt
Paris' arm around her shoulder drawing her closer, and she tried not
to shiver as she realized they were too late. The shuttle was gone,
and there was no sign it had ever been there.

"They left," she said through chattering teeth, then felt foolish for
stating the painfully obvious. "The storm isn't that bad. They could
have waited." Looking up she wasn't sure what she hoped Paris would
say, but she was startled by the grimness of his expression.

When he returned her look, his face quickly softened, but his voice
contained an unusual urgency. "I did tell Melchor to leave," he said
simply. "I guess he was following orders."

"We were here in less than fifteen minutes. He could have waited. You
would have waited for him."

"That doesn't matter." Paris pulled out the tricorder he had kept when
they started running. "What matters is that we find shelter from this
storm. A cave, or heavy growth of large trees or the bank of a
stream."

"The rocks. Where we spotted the storm. Maybe there's a cave or
crevasse in them." Kes had begun to shiver uncontrollably, her limbs
shaking so violently she could barely stand. She was glad Paris had
kept the tricorder. She doubted she could have held on to it.

Paris nodded. "We'll have to try. Are you up to another run."

Kes nodded, no longer able to control the quivering of her muscles or
stop her chattering teeth long enough to answer. She was losing body
heat rapidly. They had to find shelter soon.

She said nothing, but took Paris' proffered hand and allowed him to
lead her back into the once friendly woods that in a brief breath of
time had become a nightmare of wind and ice and bone numbing cold.

---

Paris paused to take yet another tricorder reading. Ahead lay at area
dotted with rocky outcroppings, large enough, he hoped to provide
shelter. Yes, his heart lifted with a slight glimmer of hope. That was
it. Approximately half a kilometer to the north. It read like a small
cave. He hoped it was.

He felt Kes sagging against him. Her fragile weight a frightening
burden. He held her up with his free arm, suddenly aware that she was
no longer shivering. Looking down, he expected to see her look back,
but her eyes had closed, her lips were a deathly blue. Ice clung to
the matted strands of her hair, to her clothing, and to the shriveled
remains of a red flower still tangled behind her ear. His own hands
had gone numb from exposure to the cold wetness of the storm. Lowering
the Ocampa to the ground, he fumbled with the tricorder, switching to
bioscan and passing the instrument over Kes' still form. Her core body
temperature had dropped an alarming eight degrees since the storm
erupted over them barely half an hour before. Paris knew now it was a
race against time. He hoped there truly was a cave ahead, because
without shelter, Kes would not survive.

---

Paris struggled up the slight incline, Kes's delicate weight a
noticeable burden as his feet and hands grew numb with cold and
maintaining his footing on the icy rocks became increasingly
difficult. The cave he had detected was a few hundred feet higher on
the slope. Wind driven sleet lashed his unprotected face, stung his
eyes, and crunched as it built up underfoot.

If he didn't find the cave soon, he would have to take another
tricorder reading. That would mean laying Kes down on the freezing
ground, increasing her chances of succumbing to the hypothermia that
had already robbed her of consciousness. But if he didn't find shelter
soon that wouldn't matter, because he did not think she would survive
the elements much longer. He cursed silently, damning his own lack of
knowledge. How did Ocampa physiology cope with low temperatures.
Accustomed to a rigidly controlled, temperate climate of the
underground shelter the Caretaker had provided, they were slight of
build, without the mass needed to tolerate excesses of cold. He knew
how a human reacted, but what of Kes? She seemed so frail. She might
already have suffered irreparable damage.

Lifting his head against the cutting ice, he squinted into the gloom.
The world, that had been sunshine, warmth and blue sky mere hours ago,
had become a demon made of gray sky, rain pelting and lifeless rock.
But he thought he saw a darker blotch in the grayness, perhaps it was
the mouth of the cave. Shifting his burden, he tried to increase his
pace, took two steps forward, then found himself sliding downward,
struggling to maintain his balance. He came to a jarring halt as his
knee struck a protruding rock. Cursing silently, he rose gingerly to
his feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in his knee as he ignored the
lack of sensation in his feet. Dragging himself forward, he inched up
the slope toward the beckoning shadow. It had to be a cave, he
repeated to himself. Had to be.

It was a cave of sorts, a depression in the rock barely six feet deep,
and just high enough for him to stand in if he stooped, but it was
shelter from the driving ice if the wind did not change direction. He
lay Kes on the cold stone floor, alarmed by the bluish tint to her
lips. He had to get her dry and warm and he had to do it fast.
Glancing around the cave, he found the floor covered with a litter of
twigs and dry leaves. Fire starter, he thought, fighting to keep his
own chaotic thoughts in order. He just needed something else to keep
it going once he got it started.

Taking a deep breath, he dashed out into the freezing rain one more
time. Raking gusts of wind pounded the ice against him with increasing
fury. He had seen a tree below. If he could find a few broken limbs
dry enough to ignite with the tinder on the cave floor, he might be
able to build a small fire. Crashing blindly down the slope he had
just struggled up, he worked with frantic speed, collecting as many
pieces of wood as he would carry. Urgency pushed him forward. He knew
Kes would not survive much longer. Dragging himself back up the rocky
hill, he deposited his armload inside the cave mouth, quickly checked
Kes' pulse, then dashed back out in search of anything he could use to
block the mouth of the cave and preserve their limited heat. Most of
the vegetation had been pounded flat and coated with ice, but he was
able to drag an second armload of the tall, distinctive grasses that
marked the lower slopes back to the cave. Encrusted with ice, the
weight might be enough to withstand the wind. He fell twice, unable to
keep his footing on the treacherous slope, striking his knee again the
second time he fell. He ignored the throbbing as he fought the final
few yards to the cave.

Dropping to his knees inside, he crawled to Kes' side. The Ocampa was
till unconscious, her clothing soaked, her skin clammy. His own hands
were stiff with cold.

"I've got to get you warm and dry," he said to his unresponsive
companion.

Unfastening the front of his own uniform, he stripped off his gray
turtleneck. It was still fairly dry, having been protected by the
tough, slightly waterproof, material of his uniform jumpsuit. He
shivered as the chill air struck his skin, and quickly pulled his
jumpsuit back over his shoulders. It felt clammy against his bare
skin.

"Neelix will kill me if he ever finds out about this," Paris muttered
again, half to himself. With fumbling fingers, he began to unfasten
Kes' tunic peeling the soaked garment off, along with the layers
underneath. It was like undressing a rag doll, a rag doll that was wet
to the skin. He rubbed her briskly with his dry shirt, stimulating the
circulation in her limbs. Then he slipped the turtle neck over her
head and arms, breathing a more relaxed breath once she was clothed in
something dry again. Clothed, but not out of danger. "Yeah," he said
aloud, "Neelix may kill me if he finds out I stripped his lady, but
he'd definitely kill me if I let her die."

Working frantically, Paris scraped together a pile of dry leaves and
tinder, placed a few smaller sticks on top, then the heavier wood.
This has got to work, he thought. One thing he did remember from his
father's survival course was how to start a fire. He remembered
starting several, usually by unorthodox means, more to aggravate his
father, than to please him, and to show him some things could be done
better if you ignored the proper procedures. Now, he just needed a
spark, and the circuitry in his tricorder would provide it. Within a
few minutes, he had a small fire kindled, sputtering, and struggling
for life, but a fire. When he was sure the fire would continue to
burn, he turned once again to the cave mouth, pulling the grasses
across the opening, cutting as much of the cold air and wind as he
could.

Then he gently lay Kes as close to the fire as he dared. Her skin was
still far too cold, her face white and frighteningly still. He quickly
checked the chronograph on Kes' tricorder. Almost two hours had
elapsed since the storm struck. They had been in the cave
approximately thirty minutes. It seemed an eternity. He was exhausted,
his knee ached where it had struck the icy rocks, his hands and feet
had begun to warm and now tingled with returning life. Lowering
himself to the ground, he lay between Kes and the cave opening giving
in to the trembling of his own body as it fought against the cold. On
her other side was the fire, its feeble warmth barely penetrating the
cold. Paris' breath hung like a frozen cloud each time he exhaled.
Wrapping his arms around the Ocampa, he drew her close, cradling her
into his body, to shelter her from the wind and lend some of his body
heat to her. She had to live.

Resting his cheek against the tousled top of her blonde head he
whispered into her hair, willing her to respond. "Come on Kes, pull
through. You have too."

---
Awakening
---


Kes shifted slightly, snuggling into the warmth of the body lying full
length along her own. Arms and legs enveloped her, and though relaxed
in sleep, held her close. Near her right ear, loud in the silence, she
could hear the slow rhythm of a heartbeat, and feel the gentle rise
and fall of breathing. Afraid she might break the gentle magic, of
feeling so warm and so safe, she barely opened her eyes.

Black. Neelix never wore black, she thought, her mind still foggy.
Following the seam line in front of her slitted eyes, she caught the
glitter of a communicator pin, then a splash of muted wine. A
starfleet uniform, not Neelix. Then, it came back to her, as much as
she remembered before succumbing to the cold. The lashing rain,
turning so quickly to ice, and the wind. Running with Tom as they
sought shelter from the storm. She had been so cold. So terribly cold.
And so sleepy. She did not remember exactly when she lost
consciousness. Tom had thought he had located a cave. He must have. It
was a warm cave.

She shifted slightly so she could see his face. He looked remarkably
childlike, and innocent when he was asleep. The few times he had been
confined to sickbay, she had been too concerned about his health to
watch him sleep. The classically sculpted, lines of his face, took on
an almost spiritual peace. The picture hardly fit his reputation. He
would probably be insulted to know she found him childlike, but she
saw the softness in complimentary way. She wondered if the face she
now saw mirrored the spirit he kept so carefully hidden. She had never
completely believed the things the crew men and women on Voyager said
about him, yet the hardened, experienced, devil may care, persona he
so carefully maintained seemed molded by those opinions. Defensive
tactics, she thought hazily.

Shifting her weight, she rested her head against his chest once more,
listening the steady beat of his heart. The cave was lit by a diffuse
glow from the cave mouth, it must be near dawn. With a deep sigh, she
settled and allowed herself to drift lazily in and out of sleep,
reveling in the comfort and warmth of his closeness.

---

Something was tickling his nose. He reached up to brush the annoying
thing away and as he did so the slight weight resting against him
shifted, and he tightened his arms around it. Then he heard a muffled
giggle. Starting suddenly awake, he looked down into large blue eyes,
and a disheveled head of fair hair, and remembered where he was and
with whom. She tilted her head, watching him through tangled bangs, a
puzzled crease forming between her brows, making her look for all the
world like the old Manx cat his mother had owned when he was a small
child. The mix of lively curiosity and concern, made Paris
uncomfortable.

"You're all right?" he said, then realized how obvious the statement
was.

Kes nodded, light dancing in her eyes. "Yes. And warm."

Her hand came up to brush the side of his face, and he realized she
was still clothed in his gray turtleneck. And little else, he
remembered. The relief that had rushed through him as he realized Kes
was awake and alert, was replaced by the liquid warmth of desire as he
remembered how closely he held the Ocampa to him and what he had been
dreaming shortly before he awoke. Don't even think it, he told himself
clamping down on thoughts and emotions far to tempting. He pushed her
away slightly, reluctant to release her completely, but not trusting
himself to hold her near.

"The doctor was right. Your ears really do turn decidedly orange," Kes
murmured "though I would call it pink."

It was his turn to give her a puzzled look. And was rewarded again
with her laughter, a light, sound like crystal wind chimes on a warm
evening, delicate and ethereal. He decided he was not going to ask
what had prompted the Doctor's observation. Instead, he pulled farther
away from her. The cave had warmed, and though his fire was reduced to
glowing coals, there was enough heat left to maintain a comfortable
temperature. He was about to sit up when her face lit, and she smiled,
radiantly, reaching out toward him again.

He felt the puzzled expression crease his brow once more, just as her
hand stopped inches away. Then he saw why she had smiled. Splattering
her delicate white skin, dancing across her fingers, and flowing
through them to stain the wall behind was a rainbow of color. Kes sat
up, smiled at him then crawled to the mouth of the cave. Rolling to
his back, Paris watched as she sat transfixed. During the night, ice
had coated the grassy fronds he had used to cover the mouth of the
cave, using them as a weblike support, until the entire mouth of the
small depression was sealed by a glassy wall, cutting off the frigid
wind, and preserving the heat from his small fire. It had probably
saved their lives, by conserving their body heat in this confined
space. And now, clear wedges of ice, acting like prisms, split the
morning sunshine into shafts of color.

Kes sat back on her heels before the frozen shield, delighted by the
simple beauty, and Paris found his heart echoing her pleasure.

"It's lovely," Kes said, turning to him with a smile.

"Yeah," he agreed, though it wasn't rainbows he was watching.

Kes reached out, touching the frozen wall with one slender finger,
tracing the patterns of grasses and ice, transfixed, and herself
transfixing.

If you only knew how many times I daydreamed about having you alone,
Paris thought. Then dashed the dream as he had done before. He and
Neelix had come to an understanding about their mutual feelings for
Kes. They had even come to be friends, as much as Paris allowed any
relationship to develop into friendship. He had told himself over and
again, that he could never have Kes, had almost forgotten how much he
had wanted her and yet, there were dreams.

Dreams to be forgotten.

"I guess that means the sun's up," Paris said, to distract his own
thoughts.

"Yes, and the storm is over." Kes started to turn in his direction,
then stopped, her eyes closing. Her hands went to her head, massaging
her temples.

"Kes," Paris felt his heart skip with concern. Getting to his feet,
ignoring the lingering ache in his knee, he collected Kes' tricorder,
and moved to kneel beside her, scanning her vital signs as he did. Her
blood pressure was terribly low, as were her blood sugar levels, her
heartbeat slow and faint. "Kes, talk to me." Reaching out he took her
wrist in his hand. Though she claimed to be warm, her flesh was cold
to his touch.

Looking at him, her eyes frosted, and unfocused. As he took her
shoulders in both hands, she stared at him, then slowly became more
alert.

"Dizzy," she said simply.

"I'm not surprised." Paris answered. "You haven't eaten in several
hours. And you haven't completely recovered from the cold. I'm sorry
Kes, but I think we need to break down this wall. Its beginning to
melt anyway. I'll scan the area for possible food sources."

"All right." Kes looked down at her attire. "While you're gone I'll
dress."

Paris nodded. Glad she didn't ask how she had come to be clad in his
shirt. She seemed unfocused and slightly disoriented. Sitting up, with
her blood pressure so low, must have contributed to the dizziness. He
needed to find food fast.

"It's gotten warmer outside." Placing his shoulder against the ice
wall, he leaned his weight against it and was rewarded with a
satisfying crack as the ice gave beneath the pressure. Chipping away
the shards of frozen water and grass, he looked out, and heard Kes
gasp behind him. With good reason he thought. The world outside, the
same world that had raged in potent fury yesterday, had become a
frozen wonderland. The sky was once again clear and crystal blue, the
trees and undergrowth, like the grasses in the cave mouth, were glazed
with ice, shimmering as morning sunlight glinted from ice crusted
branches and leaves, posed like lead glass figurines polished to
perfection. Around him he could hear the steady drip of thawing ice
and the rustle and chirrup of small animals stirring to activity.

It truly was lovely. Leveling his tricorder outward, he began to scan
the immediate area. The chronometer indicated it might be several
hours before Voyager could attempt routine contact or rescue depending
on the degree of interference caused by atmospheric and solar
disturbances. In the meantime, this small cave would provide
sufficient shelter, making food and water their first priority.

The tricorder bleeped decisively.

"What is it?" Kes asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Life sign. Large enough to be human."

"From Voyager?" Kes asked.

Paris could hear the hope brightening her tone. Hope his next word
crushed into oblivion. "Kazon." he answered softly.

---
Kazon Encounter
---


Kes had dressed in minutes and when she finished, Paris scattered the
remains of their fire, and tore down the barrier cross the cave mouth.
Quickly scanning the small depression, he made certain no sign of
their presence remained. He insisted Kes pull his shirt over her own
clothing, She needed to maintain her body temperature, and without
food, that would be more difficult. But they needed to get away from
this area, and the approaching Kazon, and hope they found food as they
traveled.

Taking Kes' hand in his own, trying not to notice how tiny and cold it
felt, Paris led the way down the incline that had seemed so
mountainous as he had struggled up it yesterday, and into the
underbrush of the woodland surrounding them.

The ice had begun to melt more quickly as the sun warmed the
vegetation around them, and they soon found their clothing soaked.
Though the sun was warm, the air still held a chill, made colder when
it contacted the wet fabric clinging to their skin. Paris felt Kes
shiver, but kept her moving. The temperature was rising steadily. In a
few hours it would be well above freezing and the threat of another
bout with hypothermia would be passed. He did not like the paleness of
Kes face, but he dare not stop. Keeping her moving was the best way to
keep her warm even if it did deplete her already low reserves.

As they moved he kept constant watch on the Kazon he had detected.
Although traveling in a defined pattern, they did not seem to be
moving in their direction. Perhaps, he thought, they're just here
looking for food too, and have no idea we're even here. After putting
twenty minutes and at least a kilometer and a half between them and
the cave, he slowed. Kes did not look well. She would have to rest and
eat if she was gong to continue. Stopping, he took a moment to scan
the area for suitable food. They were near a small clearing, and while
instinct told him to avoid being caught in the open, Kes' clothing was
once again soaked through and she was beginning to shiver. Dragging
her forward, he made her sit on a large round rock near the center of
the clearing. The sun had warmed and dried the rough granitelike
surface, and the heat was beginning to build in the air as well.

"Stay here," Paris handed her the tricorder. "I've located one of the
fruit trees we catalogued earlier, about one hundred and fifty meters
north of here. The tricorder is set to scan for any large life form
moving in this direction. If you pick up the slightest hint the Kazon
are heading this way, come for me."

Kes nodded, then smiled wanly. Paris bent over and kissed her lightly
on the forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

---

Kes watched as Paris disappeared into the forest. Taking a deep
breath, she looked around the open field and suddenly felt terribly
exposed and vulnerable. She could not shake the lethargy that weighted
her limbs like leaden bars, making each movement an effort of will. A
sudden crush of fear gripped her, and she shuddered, confused by the
unexpected rush of emotion that left her feeling helpless and alone.
Despite her efforts, she could remember little of what happened from
the time they had discovered the shuttle had departed without them,
until she had awoken in Paris' arms. The blankness felt like an
enormous hollow cave that yawned open, threatening to engulf her. She
shook her head, trying to rid herself of the feeling.

Then she remembered the soft brush of Paris' lips across her forehead,
the press of his hand on hers, the care and concern in his eyes when
he handed her his tricorder moments before. She looked down on the
instrument and with trembling fingers adjusted the input. Setting the
tricorder beside her, she drew her knees to her chest, her left arm
hugging them close to her body. Her right hand traced the center of
her forehead where his lips had touched her and she took a deep
breath. Closing her eyes, her mind reached tentatively outward, hoping
to sense him even though he was out of her sight.

There, she thought, as her mind cautiously touched his, a feather
light brush against the surface of his consciousness that he should
not be aware of. Kes was aware she was eavesdropping on another's
thoughts without invitation, but she needed the reassurance of this
union. And she was not disappointed by what she found. The concern she
had read in his eyes, had not been imagined. It was quite real and
powerfully felt. She took comfort in his desire to keep her safe.

Then she felt a frown pressing against the fingertips that still
rested against her head. Beneath the concern deeper more unsettling
thoughts clamored for attention. Thoughts Paris continually pushed
aside - anger that she had been placed in danger, impatience to
discover an explanation for why the situation had been allowed to
develop, and one more powerful image, that warmed her as the sunshine
was only beginning to do. A private thought, one he had buried deeply,
that she felt guilty for touching, even though it was meant for her.
She had counted herself unbelievably lucky to have found the love of
one man when she had been chosen by Neelix. To experience that emotion
twice was almost overwhelming.

The piercing bleep of the tricorder startled her and she tensed,
expecting to see Kazon and prepared to flee, but instead Paris emerged
from the shadowed woods, his arms filled with round, pale yellow
fruits. He grinned at her, and she raised her hand in acknowledgment.
Still smiling, he drew close rolled his burden onto the rock on which
she sat.

"Here," he said polishing one of the fruits on the front of his
uniform. "It's not much, but it will give you some energy." Handing it
to her, he settled beside her, checking the tricorder as he did so. "I
haven't had any luck reaching Voyager or any of the other landing
parties. I'm assuming they all managed to get safely off the surface
before the storm hit. If the Kazon are on the planet, that means their
ship is probably in orbit. Voyager might have had to withdraw to avoid
detection or a fight." He studied her as though gauging her reaction.

"I've already thought of that, Tom."

"It means we may be stuck here for a while. As soon as it's safe,
Voyager will be back for us. If we can avoid the Kazon, we should be
all right. And if we stay in this general location, they won't have
any problems finding us."

Despite his cheerful attitude, Kes knew he was worried about her and
their situation. Nodding, she bit into the fruit. It was crunchy and
slightly tart. The juice felt good as is slid down her throat and she
realized she was very thirsty as well as hungry. She finished two,
before she began to feel better. Nibbling on a third she looked up to
find Paris staring at her, a peculiar expression on his face. He
looked away quickly, busying himself with the tricorder, and the
remains of his impromptu harvest. Kes too, looked down, at the gray
shirt she still wore.

"I guess I should return this," she said, as she began to pull her
arms from the sleeves.

"No," Paris said quickly. "You need the extra warmth. Look,  Kes, you
know that Neelix and I have..."

The angry bleep of the tricorder's intruder alert signal interrupted
whatever Paris planned on saying. He was on his feet instantly
scanning the area from which they had come.

"Kazon," he said to Kes. "About a half kilometer behind us. Let's get
moving." Taking her hand he pulled her from her perch, scattering the
remains of their simple meal as he did so. They had barely covered
half the distance to the tree line when the signal warned them of
another intruder.

"Damn," Paris muttered. "They're ahead of us too. They must have
landed in more than one spot."

The signal sounded a third time, and Paris looked at Kes. "If I didn't
know better I would guess they had just beamed in all around us. As if
they knew exactly where we were."

"But they can't."

"I know. I think its just blind dumb luck. And not ours," he added
softly under his breath.

Kes felt a rush of desperation pounding from him as he circled with
the tricorder. He shook his head, and she did not need to ask what he
had found. His stance and his expression told her all she needed to
know.

Then before she could react. He pulled the communicator from his
uniform and pressed it into her hand. "Slip this into your shoe." he
said quickly. "If they find you there's a good chance they'll stop
looking for a communicator after they find the first one." He handed
her the tricorder as well, then dragged her into the middle of the
open field, and forced her down into the tall grass.

"Tom, what...."

"Quiet," he said, the command in his voice unquestioning. "Don't move.
Don't make a sound. No matter what happens. Voyager will come, but you
have to stay clear of the Kazon."

"Tom," Kes said, forcing her voice to be calm. "There's no place to
hide."

Paris grinned. "Yeah. That's the idea. A trick mother nature taught
me. And one the Kazon are just cocky enough to fall for. Don't move a
muscle and they'll never notice you. Just like a fawn." He brushed the
hair from her forehead. "And don't worry. I'll be okay."

Then he stood and began to run, a ragged, zig zag pattern toward the
wood line. Too late, Kes realized his intention. She almost followed,
had half risen to her knees, when the angry whine of an energy
weapon's discharge stopped her. It was a Kazon weapon. There was a
second shot, and she heard the sound of bodies crashing through the
bushes and into the clearing around her. She froze. Holding her breath
as they passed within meters of where she lay, so intent on crossing
the clearing they never noticed her. She heard them enter the woods at
the far side of the clearing. Shouting voices and the thud of bodies
colliding fractured the noonday peace. She couldn't just lie here.
Slowly she raised her head to look over the tall grass, just as three
figures burst from the edge of the woods, a tangle of arms and legs.
The coarse browns of the Kazon overpowering the black clad figure,
bearing him to the ground in a tumult of flailing limbs.

Then it was over. The Kazon stood, dragging Paris to his feet, his
arms pinned behind his back. Half dozen of their companions emerged to
surround the Human. Kes could hear their voices, though she could not
distinguish their words, taunting, victorious, huntsmen with their
prey. The two holding Paris had twisted his arms behind him, and Kes
winced, the memory of her time as a Kazon captive all too sharp and
clear. They would hurt him, for no other reason than because it
brought them perverse pleasure.

The tallest stepped up to stand in front of Paris. He spoke, and Kes
could almost see the cocky grin and imagine the stubborn glint that
lit the Human's azure eyes. Paris answered, and the Kazon struck, a
downward blow across his face, that would have dropped the young man
to his knees had Kazon hands around his arms not supported his weight.
Paris looked up, the grin gone, his jaw now set and angry, a bloody
streak trickling from the corner of his mouth.

The Kazon commander waved his men back in the direction they had come,
dragging their prisoner with them. Kes ducked her head, and fought to
control her ragged breathing. Certain she would be detected. But Paris
had read the Kazon correctly, and they passed by her without noticing
she was there. She lay still, her thoughts in turmoil. Paris had
sacrificed himself to provide a diversion to protect her.

After an eternity spent crouched among the grasses, Kes felt the
woodland around her return to a state of cautious normalcy. The
deathly silence that had hovered over the clearing in the wake of the
Kazon began to echo the tiny sounds of animal life stirring once
again. Being careful not to inadvertently make noise, Kes opened the
tricorder to confirm what she had already sensed. There were no Kazon
within a kilometer of her position. Standing, she carefully widened
the scope of her scan, and as she did her heart leapt with joy and
relief, then almost immediately crashed.

Approximately five kilometers west of her position, sat a Federation
shuttle, but no apparent signs of life.

---
Melchor
---

Kes was stumbling with exhaustion as she approached the shuttle, her
senses screaming caution, though her tricorder detected no signs of
life. She had half walked, half run, the distance to the vehicle's
landing site, hoping against hope that its presence meant rescue,
fearing it was only a trap. The shuttle appeared to be completely
deserted and she could not believe it had been here when Paris had
scanned the area earlier. Tom would not have missed it, she thought.
If he'd been looking for it. Crouching in the underbrush, she watched
for several long minutes, confirming what the tricorder had told her.
Nothing moved in or around the Federation craft. Stepping cautiously
from her hiding place, she approached the vessel, then touched the
access plate that controlled the door locking mechanism. It responded
with a soft whisper as the hatch slid open, and Kes stepped into the
ship. The hatch swished shut behind her with the characteristically
hushed efficiency she had come to associate with Federation
technology.

She leaned back against the comforting solidness of the interior
bulkhead, and for a brief moment allowed herself the luxury of
relaxing. Closing her eyes, she listening to the silence. The ship's
interior was cool after the warmth of the noonday sun, and for the
first time since before the ice storm, she relished the coolness. The
air was clean, filtered, lacking the riotous variety of fragrances in
the forest around them, and that too, felt reassuring. It meant the
shuttle was still partially functional. She had not realized how much
she had come to associate the filtered freshness of the air with the
sense of home she felt aboard Voyager. That and the steady thrum of
the ship around her. She realized with a sharp pang how much she
missed Voyager, giving in to the fear that she might never see it, or
Neelix, or her friends on board again. The thought had nagged at her,
but until now she had not allowed it to dominate her thinking, nor had
she succumbed to the fear that this planet might well become her
permanent home. Voyager might not be able to return for them. Neelix,
and the life she had come to cherish, might be gone forever.

Then she stood up straight, and stepped away from the wall. "No," she
said aloud to the silence, "I won't give up yet. They will be back."
And when they did come, she and Tom would be waiting. With the shuttle
in their possession, they had a fighting chance. But she was still
puzzled by why there was no sign of anyone on board. Nor was there any
sign of a struggle. The ship had been voluntarily abandoned, even
though it appeared to be in perfect order.

Walking carefully to the forward section, she scanned the interior,
checking for life signs or obvious booby traps, and finding nothing.
She and Paris had assumed Melchor had flown this particular shuttle
away from the planet's surface right before the storm. Perhaps, he had
not been able to escape the planet's atmosphere and had landed here.
There was no sign that it had sustained any damage, and she hoped,
Melchor had not also been captured by the Kazon. She had pushed that
particular thought deeper each time it had tried to gain her
attention, but she could not deny the possibility.

Sitting in the pilot's seat, she lay the tricorder in the seat
opposite hers and began to run through the preflight checks as Paris'
had taught her. She had no intention of lifting off, but she wanted to
assure herself it was possible should it become necessary. As she did
so her mind churned through endless scenarios, each more pessimistic
than the one preceding it. She forced herself to calmly consider only
the most encouraging options, yet thoughts of her own captivity in the
hands of the Kazon, continued to force themselves into her mind,
clouding her ability to think rationally. The Kazon were brutal
captors, born perhaps from brutal circumstances, and she did not want
to dwell on what might happen to Paris should he remain in their hands
for any length of time. Her only consolation was that he was probably
not dead...not yet. The Kazon would not kill him that quickly, even if
he were of no value to them.

Her hands flew over the pilot's controls, testing systems, feeling a
surge of relief as each board responded with green lights. She reached
for the final touchpadd.

"Don't move." said a voice behind her.

---

"Turn around, slowly," the voice repeated.

Kes carefully rotated the pilot's chair until she had turned it 180
degrees, then she let out a sigh of relief. "Merritt."

Melchor looked as surprised and relieved as she felt. His long
features, so often solemn, broke into an infectious smile, that she
found herself echoing. His face and uniform were splattered with mud
and his dark hair was tousled, but he seemed unharmed.

"I thought you were dead," he blurted.

"We thought you'd managed to get off the planet," Kes answered.

"I did." Then Melchor stopped and looked around the cabin as though
searching for something he had misplaced. His face darkened. "Where's
Paris? He was with you. Did he leave you alone out here--"

"No," Kes said quickly, "Not voluntarily at least." She sighed,
suddenly feeling exhausted. "He's been captured by the Kazon."

"Damn." Melchor approached, holstering his phaser, and sliding into
the co-pilot's seat.

Kes leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. "What happened?"

Melchor shook his head mournfully. "The storm was coming faster than I
expected. I hadn't gotten any answer from you or Paris. I didn't know
if you had gotten my warning or not, but I figured you were caught in
the storm as well. Then I got a call from Voyager. I could only make
out one word."

"Kazon." Kes guessed.

Nodding, Melchor swallowed hard and continued. "I managed to get the
shuttle off the ground and above the worst of the storm, but there was
nothing I could do. There were three Kazon ships in orbit, and Voyager
had been forced to retreat. I didn't think I could catch them without
being detected by the Kazon, so I landed on the opposite side of the
planet. After the storm broke I moved the shuttle here in short hops.
When I got close enough to our original position I went out looking
for you and Paris, and stumbled into the middle of a Kazon landing
party. They didn't see me, but I couldn't get away from them without
being detected. I've been holed up, hiding for most of the last twelve
hours. And you, and Paris?"

Kes quickly filled him in on the events since the storm struck. "We
have to help him," she ended.

Melchor's brows drew together, deep in troubled thought. "They seem to
have set up camp a few kilometers from here, in the foothills of the
mountains. The hillside is peppered with small caves. I heard them
talking about it."

"Do you think they've taken Paris there?" Kes brightened, hoping the
answer was positive.

Melchor shrugged. "I don't know. I only caught bits of conversation as
they passed. Nothing was said about a human. They seemed more
concerned with gathering fresh food. They might have taken him to one
of their ships. If he's even alive."

"We have to find out. Get close enough to the camp to scan the area
without being detected."

"I agree, but we should wait until they settle for the night. There
will be less chance of being detected then."

Kes started to protest, to emphasize the need to rescue Paris from the
Kazon as soon as possible, and he seemed to anticipate her objection,
silencing her with a wave of his hand.

"You don't look like you are in any condition to help anyone," he said
firmly. "Neither of us are. I know you don't want to leave Paris in
Kazon hands, but if he isn't dead yet, I don't think he will be in the
next few hours. You need rest, so do I, or we won't accomplish
anything. In five hours it will be dark, another five hours after
that, and they will all be asleep except for perimeter guards. I
learned that much while I was eavesdropping. They aren't expecting us,
so the guard will probably be light. We have to rely on stealth."

There was little Kes could do in the face of his all too rational
logic. "All right. But no more than ten hours."

"Okay, " Melchor said. "After we've both had some time to rest and
some food, we'll do this." And he proceeded to outline a plan.

---

The darkness, satin rich and humming with subdued life, surrounded her
as she crouched behind a small outcropping of rock and tried very hard
to be patient. The brilliant midday sun had baked the last chill from
her body. The air had once again warmed, until the ice storm of the
day before seemed little more than a distant memory, and now the
evening coolness was a welcome change. She still wore the gray
pullover Paris had wrapped her in, not for warmth now, but to ward off
the swarms of biting insects and to remind her, she could not relax
until he too was safe. She and Melchor had spent the afternoon
attempting to rest and waiting impatiently for nightfall. Despite her
physical ordeal, she found it impossible to sleep for more than a
short period. Dreams haunted her, taunting her with memories of how
the Kazon had treated her, and what they might well be doing to Paris.
Each nightmare brought her to full wakefulness, her heart pounding in
panic, and left her feeling more exhausted than before she had slept,
until she had given up any hope of sleep. She had been grateful to
finally set out toward the Kazon encampment, but now she found herself
waiting again.

Kes peered into the darkness, straining her senses to catch the
slightest hint of where he might be held, if he were even on the
planet's surface. Beside her, Melchor crouched, effortlessly balanced
on the balls of his feet as though prepared to spring, his long face a
blur in the darkness. And Kes was puzzled. Her initial reaction upon
seeing him in the shuttle craft had been one of tremendous relief. His
presence meant yet another chance that one of them would survive to
return to Voyager, and increased the chance of rescuing Paris. She
admitted to herself, now, that she was pleasantly surprised that
Melchor had so openly accepted her decision to locate and seek the
release of Voyager's helmsman. Based on his earlier response to Paris,
Kes had been certain that she would have to persuade Melchor to assist
her, but instead he had proved willing and even eager to do his share.
It embarrassed her to think she had so obviously misjudged him, yet
Paris had voiced a similar interpretation of Melchor's behavior. That
did not matter, she told herself. The important thing was they were
working together. With any luck Paris would soon be free.

Huddled together near the Kazon camp, they stared into the darkness,
trying to find some clue to the Human's whereabouts. Scanning the
network of shallow caverns had proven difficult. The composition of
the rocks was heavily metallic, and strongly polarized, causing
distortions in their tricorder readings. It seemed easier to simply
watch, wait and hope they would pick up some clue to his whereabouts.
She fidgeted, anxious to move, to do something. She was a patient
person, but in her short life she had discovered she was not content
to simply wait for events to occur. She wanted to make things happen.
Not an Ocampa trait, but perhaps something learned from her new
friends. A touch on her arm, brought her attention back to the
present. Melchor released her arm and held up his hand, pointing
silently toward the far side of the encampment, then nodded and
grinned briefly.

Kes nodded back. She understood.

They would have to wait longer, until activity in the camp had slowed.
Then they would have to work their way around the perimeter to the far
side. It would be a few more hours and she did not like it, but she
had little choice.

Finally, Melchor signaled it was time to move. Checking the medical
kit strapped to her side, Kes unholstered the phaser Melchor had given
her, and followed his lead into the darkened wood. They moved
cautiously in a broad circle to the far side of the rocky hillside,
being careful to make no noise that would arouse the Kazon. Melchor
had assured her that there were no electronic perimeter alarms around
this encampment. Apparently the Kazon were confident that they had
chased off the alien interlopers, and were alone.

After what seemed like endless hours of skulking in the darkness, they
emerged several feet from the edge of the clearing. There were three
small caves facing them. In front of one sat a young Kazon male, a
warrior, but barely into adolescence. Melchor nodded to Kes then
positioned himself. They had one opportunity. They had to remove the
guard, without making a sound. As Kes waited, Melchor watched. In the
split second the young Kazon turned his head away from them, Melchor
launched himself forward, taking the guard down. There was a brief
soundless struggle, that stretched into a surreal slow-motion dance,
before Melchor stood, and signaled her to follow. She glanced at her
chronometer. It had taken only seconds. Slipping from the shadows, Kes
raced across the open area between the cave and the wood line, and
slipped into the darkened depression in the hillside. Melchor had
propped the unconscious Kazon against the outside of the opening, to
divert any of his curious, or sleepless companions, then positioned
himself just inside.

"This cave isn't very deep. There's a sharp bend ahead. I can't get a
clear reading, but I think Paris is here. Take the tricorder. I'll
guard the opening."

Kes nodded, her throat tightening with nervous anticipation, as she
stepped carefully into the darkness. The tunnel was not wide, the
walls and floor rough with tumbled stone. Darkness closed around her
in a solid wall as she moved away from the mouth, as quickly as the
uneven footing allowed, until she was far enough around the curved
tunnel to block her line of sight from the opening, then she carefully
switched on her hand light, shielding the beam and keeping it at
lowest intensity. She heard a muffled sound ahead and her heart leapt.
Around the next turn the tunnel opened into a small, cell like cavern,
her lantern barely illuminated the area, but its feeble light was
enough.

"Tom," Kes whispered, as she moved forward.

Huddled against the far wall knelt a dark figure, almost invisible in
the blackness, the light from her lantern catching the barest glimmer
of fair hair. He was slumped forward, held at an odd angle, and as she
approached he stirred and looked up, blinking in the dim, but
unaccustomed light.

"Tom," she whispered again.

"Kes," there was disbelief in his voice, and something else. "Damn,
I'd hoped you'd gotten away."

"I did, we've come to get you out of here."

Paris shook his head. "No." The single word was a parched whisper.

"Yes, I can."

"No."

It was then Kes realized why the angle of his body had seemed so
unnatural. On his knees, he leaned backward against a rough beam set
in the floor of the cave, his arms wrapped around the beam, and his
hands were tied behind it. He could not stand until his hands were
freed.

"Let me get your hands untied." Kes slipped behind him. He grunted,
when she bumped into his arms.

"Kes, just go. Go now." There was desperate urgency in his voice.

"I am not leaving you here," Kes answered with equal firmness. "As
soon as I untie you, we can get you back to the shuttle."

"NO." Paris' voice was almost a shout. "Kes, you don't understand--"

"I understand all too well," she interrupted. "I won't leave you here
with the Kazon. Melchor is guarding the cave mouth. We don't have much
time."

"You have no time, Kes," Paris' voice edged with urgency. "Melchor is
working with the Kazon. He's with them."

"He's right, Kes."

Kes turned as the darkness flared into brilliant light. Melchor stood
where the tunnel widened into the small cell, a torch held in one
hand, phaser in the other, the Kazon youth he had pretended to knock
out, standing by his side, weapon at ready.

"And now I have you both."

---
The Face of The Enemy
---

Working with quick efficiency, the Kazon youth stripped Kes of her
medical kit, tricorder, phaser and comm badge. She stood for several
moments, stunned by this sudden turn of events. She felt her hands
ball into fists, clenched rigidly at her sides. How could she have
been so foolish to believe Melchor? Why should she have had any reason
not to? She was not sure which hurt more, that Melchor had betrayed
them both, or that she had fallen for his duplicity and placed herself
and Paris in greater danger. That they were in danger, was not in
doubt. Melchor, who in one moment had been a welcome ally, had
transformed suddenly into the guise of a demon. The change in his
demeanor and facial expression, rattled her, deeply and thoroughly.
More unsettling was the knowledge that she had suspected nothing since
meeting with him at the shuttle hours before. Completely focused on
rescuing Paris, she had never sensed anything but compliance from her
comrade. Now all her confidence lay shattered at her feet. She had
completely misread Melchor and his motives. Yes, he had wanted to help
her gain access to the Kazon camp, but not to rescue Paris. He had
betrayed them both and her foolishness blinded her to his true
intentions.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Why?" Melchor laughed, a twittering cackle. "Ask Paris. He knows."

Kes glanced toward Paris. Voyager's helmsman had said nothing since
Melchor had stepped into the cave. His face now wore a familiar mask,
his eyes dark, his mouth a cynical grin, challenge written in every
ounce of his rigidly held body. "Ask Paris," Paris mimicked, his voice
low, "and he'll tell you Melchor has finally slipped over the edge."

Melchor laughed again, loudly, a raucous belly laugh that hinted of
madness.

"Over the edge. Round the bend. Fruitier than a fruitcake. Quaint
phrases, but not quite true. I know exactly what I'm doing, Paris.
We've all been dragged along on this joyride to the Delta Quadrant,
but none of us really wants to be here. Except perhaps you. We'll
never get home. Not like this. Tippy toeing from one planet to the
next. Always mindful of Starfleet's rules and regulations."

"Rules and regs you've always been glad to follow," Paris cut in.

"You're a poor one to talk rules, Paris. You've always gotten away
with breaking the rules."

"Not always." Paris amended quietly, but Melchor didn't appear to hear
or respond.

"Rules. Starfleet rules. What have they gotten us?  Trapped here by
Janeway's' misguided loyalty to the prime directive. We could have
been home. We didn't need to protect the Ocampa homeworld. They were
doomed one way or the other. " Melchor's voice had risen as he spoke,
tinged with twisted rage, and pompous sense of self-righteousness. He
took a deep breath and when he continued his voice was steadier, his
words more frightening in their calmness than in hysteria. "What did
it get us?" he asked again. "So many dead. My good friend, Cavit.
Doctor Fitzgerald. All the ones who knew the truth about you, Paris.
They knew what you really were. If they'd lived, you would be spending
this voyage in the brig. They knew. They might be alive if it weren't
for you."

Kes knew there was little truth in Melchor's words. His thoughts were
disjointed, wandering randomly from accusation to accusation. She knew
quite well the power of the Caretaker and knew that he, not Paris, had
caused the deaths of Melchor's friends, but that bit of knowledge
would never sway Melchor. No bit of logic could sway him. He had drawn
his own conclusions, created his own reality, and through the Kazon,
found the power to back his madness, to give him strength.

"I always thought of myself as a loyal Starfleet officer," Melchor
went on, "but after a while I began to question if my loyalty was
misplaced. All I had to do was look around me, and ask who I could
find on the bridge of this 'Starfleet' ship. Janeway, who trapped us
here. Maquis traitors. And you. Tom Paris, loyal to none. Trusted by
none. YOU had the nerve to accept a position that placed you above the
rest of us. None of it made sense. Until I met Michael."

"Jonas." Kes said flatly, glancing from Melchor to Paris. There was
nothing else she could do but watch as the drama played itself out.
Melchor swung from livid rage to matter of fact calmness with alarming
sharpness, his words logical in their twisted way. And Paris said
nothing.

"Yes, Jonas. My good friend Michael. He knew. He knew the only way to
regain our rightful place was to place his loyalty and trust with
Seska. He knew. But he was afraid to act."

"We know he sent transmissions to Seska on several occasions," Kes
edged closer to Melchor as she spoke.

"Yes. But he wasn't working alone."

Kes stopped. "You?"

"Yes," Melchor burst. "Yes. Jonas was too timid. He had the dream, I
had the will. We worked together. We were inseparable. You ended that
union, Paris. Because of you and that spotted hyena, she calls a
lover, Jonas is dead. But the dream is not crushed."

"Tom didn't kill Jonas." Kes said quietly, attempting to draw
Melchor's attention away from Paris.

He spun on her, addressing her as though noticing her presence for the
first time. "Yes. Paris and Neelix, working together, accomplished
that. What an unlikely pair. Who would have thought they would have
ruined so neat a scheme. But now I can avenge my friends, quite
possibly repair the damage you've done and achieve my original goal.
Because I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Isn't
it ironic how fate sometimes hands us the means to an end when we
least expect it or plan for it. Paris thinks I'm mad. But I'm just
playing with the hand fate dealt me. Taking advantage of the
circumstances. The storm, the Kazon, being on this away team with you,
and him. None of this was planned, but it all fits so well into my
needs. I'm playing this by ear, as they say. But I do play so well."

"What are you going to do with us?" Kes asked, trying very hard to
sound blandly disinterested, though her heart pounded with fear. She
dared not show Melchor the slightest anxiety. Dared not reinforce his
superior air.

Melchor shrugged, smiling. "At first I thought I would simply kill
you. I certainly don't need you to bargain with Seska. The technology
I'll be handing her and the Kazon when I hand over the shuttle, should
be enough to buy me a seat on their ruling council."

"Or to get you shot." The same taunting smirk Kes had seen in the
glade more than a day ago, quirked the corners of Paris' mouth. He was
baiting Melchor intentionally.

And Melchor didn't take the bait. Instead he nodded. "Probably," he
agreed unexpectedly, foiling Paris' attempt to goad him. "I'm not as
valuable as Federation technology. Not to Seska. But to this little
gathering of Kazon, I'm so much more. You see, this is a splinter
group. Belonging to no particular Maj. They have left their own kind
to seek out Seska, to join her, to master Federation technology. To
them, I am indispensable, because, through me, they will give Seska
the one thing she craves most besides Voyager herself, and that is the
Alpha quadrant's most advanced technological wizardry."

"There's still no guarantee you won't be killed," Kes persisted.

"True. And these Kazon have the same thought, but they are convinced
you and Paris, are the extra they need to win Seska over."

"Convinced, by you I'm sure. Perhaps we should convince them that we
would be of more value to Seska whole. Give me back my medical kit.
Let me treat the Lieutenant's injuries."

"Oh," cooed Melchor, "is it 'The Lieutenant' now. What happened to
'Tom'? You think I'm foolish enough to release him, much less let you
treat him. I'm no more stupid than I am insane, Kes. Besides, a little
pain never hurt anyone. Paris has caused enough others pain. In fact,
I have something different in mind, Paris. Just causing pain isn't
enough. The Kazon need to be confident that they have completely
subdued you, and The Golden Boy needs to be brought down a few
notches."

Kes was startled to hear Paris chuckle, softly, as though in
disbelief, or, she thought, as though the threat was not new to him.

"You know, Tom." Melchor placed a snide emphasis on Paris' first name.
"I haven't been with these Kazon much more than a day, but in that
short time I've realized they are a one dimensional race. Even more so
than the Klingons. The Kazon are limited by their struggle for
existence and everything about them is unimaginative, including their
attitudes about dominance. They dominate their females, and they try
to dominate one another, but they haven't truly begun to understand
how thoroughly one male can subjugate another."

"What are you getting at Melchor?"

Beneath the outward belligerence of his tone, Kes could hear the
tiredness in Paris' voice, see it in the drawn whiteness of his face,
and in the slump of his shoulders. He was not beaten, but he was
loosing the need to resist, slipping into the passivity of simply not
caring, as though he were anxious to get on with whatever Melchor had
planned and be done with it.

"To put it simply, I've convinced them that, in order to impress
Seska, they must be more Cardassian than she is and that a truly
powerful Cardassian male must dominate, totally, all other males. That
controlling a male is the ultimate authority. I've also convinced them
that you are a very well ranked Human, in the Cardassian sense.
Possessing you, forcing you to submit totally to their will, then
offering you to her, will in turn, give them great power and credence
in any dealings with Seska." Melchor seemed to come alive as he spoke,
pacing the confines of the small cave, his hands a manic comedy of
gestures manipulating the air to emphasize his words. In the soft
light of the torch, his hands sent grotesque shadows dancing across
the darkness in a macabre waltz as threatening as his words. He
laughed softly, an eerie cackle, and Kes began to believe, for the
first time, that he was truly deranged. He believed what he was saying
even though the reasoning was hopelessly flawed. "I've even made up a
ritual of sorts. A rite of passage. Its funny how easily they can be
convinced, how eagerly they accept this fantasy, how desperate they
are to have an 'in' with Seska. They've decided that tomorrow, they
will each force you to submit to them. It seems to have become quite
the challenge."

"Submit?" Kes said. She knew how naive the question sounded. She also
knew full well what Melchor was threatening. "Merritt, you can't do
that. Tom has done nothing to harm you. You know none of this will
mean anything to Seska."

Melchor laughed, louder, a frightening sound that twisted like a claw
in Kes' heart. "You're right. It won't mean a damn thing to her. But
they don't know that, and, maybe, it will mean something to me." His
eyes glittered from the shadows, and she could hear the rasp of his
breathing, elevated by anticipation.

"Kes, don't." Paris voice was low, but the command was undeniable.

"Yes, Kes, don't interfere," Melchor mimicked Paris voice. "Your turn
will come. But for tomorrow, Tom Paris will be center stage, and I
will watch, as will you. And if he doesn't perform to my satisfaction,
you will take his place."

"No, Melchor." Paris' shoulders straightened and he rose up on his
knees despite the restraints binding his arms. "No way in hell. You'll
get your show tomorrow. Perhaps more than you bargained for. But only
as long as Kes stays here."

"Oh, Paris, have we found your weakness?" Sarcasm dripped from
Melchor's quietly spoken words as he stepped closer to Kes, his hand
stroking the tousled blondeness of her hair. "Have we found the one
thing that gets under that seemingly impenetrable hide of yours? Is it
possible that devil-may-care, Tom Paris, who cares for no one but
himself, has an 'Achilles heel'? I thought it was just a rumor, a
passing fancy, but maybe all that shipboard chatter about you and Kes
was true. It did amaze me that Neelix would allow his lady love to
accompany you to such a lovely place as this. This makes things much
more interesting. Maybe," Melchor stopped as though savoring a
forbidden thought, then continued, "Maybe, tomorrow, if Kes feels the
same for you, she'll find a way to bargain for you, to save you from
certain humiliation."

Melchor said nothing more. There was no need to. Kes knew full well
what he wanted in return for Paris.

"But you have the night to think of that don't you." Melchor nodded,
false congeniality in his smile and his tone. "Until then, I will
leave you 'lovebirds' alone. Think about what I've suggested, Kes.
Think well."

With that Melchor turned and strode out of the cave, taking the Kazon
warrior with him.

---

Turning slowly to where Paris still knelt, Kes got down on her knees
beside him, embarrassed by her failure. "I'm sorry," she said softly,
not wanting to look him directly in the eyes.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he answered gently.

She looked up to find him watching her intently.

Alarmed by the strain she heard hidden in his voice and words, she
quickly forgot her own discomfort, as concern for him swept through
her. Melchor had left her with little more than a light, but she could
at least determine how badly Paris was injured. Recovering her
lantern, she placed it on the ground beside him. "Let me untie your
hands."

"That's okay," Paris said quickly.

Too quickly, Kes decided. "Yes, I will. Don't argue."

"Kes, don't--"

Paris grunted softly, under his breath, when she bumped him again. He
was hurt, she didn't need a tricorder to know that, and it went beyond
the darkening bruise on his cheek. Carefully, using her hands, eyes
and senses, she examined him as the Doctor had shown her. His face was
cool, but far too pale, breathing and pulse elevated, perhaps from
anger, and he was in pain. She soon determined why.

"Your hands."

Paris looked away, jaw clenched. "It's nothing."

"It's more than nothing, Tom Paris."

"But there's nothing you can do right now, Kes."

Cautiously, making sure she did not jostle his arms or hands, she
studied the ropes he was bound with. Woven of a tough, metallic fiber,
they were more like heavy cable than rope, the intricate knot sealed,
with a melted substance that made untying impossible, and she had
nothing with which to cut the bindings.

"What did they do?" she asked softly, although she did not need to
ask. His hands were swollen, the fingers twisted and discolored. It
was all too obvious what had occurred.

Paris said nothing.

"Melchor?" Kes asked. "Did he---"

"No." Paris swallowed hard, steadying himself before he continued. "It
was the Kazon. Melchor just made a few suggestions. He's good you
know. Better than I ever expected. Good at finding the best ways..."
Paris' voice faded, his eyes closed against the memory.

"The best ways to hurt."

Paris nodded. "He told them I was a pilot. Asked them to think of
something 'appropriate'." He was silent for a long moment, the he
looked at Kes. "I guess he wanted to make sure I didn't fly out of
here in the shuttle he's got hidden in the woods."

"So they broke your hands."

A shudder went through the young helmsman, and he nodded.

"Oh, Tom, I had a hypospray. If I'd known, I would have had time to
take care of the pain."

"It's okay, Kes. Everything is pretty well numb from my shoulders down
right now." Paris looked at her, his steady blue eyes, troubled. "I'd
hoped you had gotten away."

Caressing his face with a gentle, soothing touch, Kes brushed the
sweat soaked hair from his forehead. She could feel the exhaustion,
desperation and fear radiating from him, even though he appeared
outwardly calm. It startled her to realize that the weaker he became
the more intensely she was able to read his unspoken emotions. It made
her decision that much easier.

"When he comes back in the morning ," Kes said, firmly, "I'll do
whatever he wants."

"No." Paris choked the word in a voice worn to harshness. "No, Kes.
You can't."

"Tom," Kes laid a tiny hand on each side of his face, her fingers
gentle, lifting his face to hers. "I have to. It's the only chance you
have."

"No," emotion cracked in Paris voice. "It won't do any good. He'll use
you, and nothing will change for me." His voice dropped to a rasping
whisper. "I won't let you."

The naked hurt in Paris voice, brought tears to Kes' eyes. She hoped
he could not see them, and she fought to keep them from her voice.
"Ever since the storm, you've struggled to protect me," Kes said
simply, "Now it is my turn to protect you. I can stop him from hurting
you any more."

"That's just the point, Kes." Paris words were edged with exhaustion
and pain. "It no longer matters what either of us do."

"Don't say that." .

"But its true, Kes. Degrading yourself won't stop him from hurting me.
In his mind, I'm getting exactly what I deserve. Maybe he's right"
There was a moment of hesitation. "Besides, he can't do a damned thing
to me, that hasn't already been done, by someone else." Shame burned
in Paris eyes, in the rigidly clenched jaw. "Can't you understand. You
can't give in to him. Not for me."

Kes was startled and frightened as she watched the last remnants of
his spirit crumble. Despite her embracing fingers, he looked down.
Paris' voice was barely audible and she leaned forward to catch his
words. "I'm not worth it."

Kes lifted his face to hers once more, shocked by the sadness she saw
there, the years of self doubt, of hiding pain the pitiless words of
others caused, of always being made to feel less than he was. She had
suspected, but until now, had not fully understood, his private
demons.

"Promise me," he whispered. "When he comes back in the morning, you'll
refuse to co-operate with him. Promise."

"Oh, Tom--"

"Promise."

Kes nodded, silently.

With that, some of the tension drained from Paris rigidly held
shoulders. His body slumped against the pole at his back, his head
tilted backwards, and his eyes closed, calm resignation settling his
features in a sleeplike peace. Her senses told her, he was far from
being at peace, but some of the worry had evaporated. Opening his
eyes, he looked at her.

"You should try to get some rest," he said.

"Everyone keeps telling me that," Kes snapped more harshly than she
intended, frustration and anger filling her. "I hardly feel like
resting."

"But you need to. You'll need your strength tomorrow." He swallowed
hard. "We both will."

Kes knew arguing would be futile, though her mind churned with silent
fury, at Melchor, at the Kazon. She felt an anger she had never known
when she was a captive herself, yet now the simmering passion that had
been building in her threatened to spill out. How could Melchor treat
a fellow human in such a fashion? She could almost understand the
Kazon, but Melchor?

Paris read the distress in her features because his mouth quirked into
a small sarcastic grin, "Makes you want to scream doesn't it."

Kes nodded not trusting herself to speak.

"I had a friend, when I was a kid. She used to always say, 'if you
feel like screaming, and don't scream, you'll get fat.'"

Kes looked at him, puzzled by the non sequitor.

Then Paris forced a subdued laugh. "She used to go out into the woods
and rant and rave and kick trees until she got it out of her system."

"Did it work?"

"Seemed to work for her. She never got fat. Broke her toe once, but
she never got fat."

Kes was about to protest the absurdity of the story, then realized its
purpose. He was trying to distract her, put her at ease and she was
grateful for his efforts, for the comfort his words brought, however
slight, and for his selfless strength.

"Try to get some rest, Kes. There really is nothing else you can do.
We'll have to wait 'til morning, then play it by ear."

She hesitated a moment longer, not wanting to admit to the tiredness
she suddenly felt, but it must have shown in her face.

"Lie down. Use my knees for a pillow if you like."

Kes paused, then lowered herself to the hard packed dirt of the cave
floor. Settling with her back toward him, being careful not to jostle
his arms, she rested her head against his knees so that he could not
read her expression. When morning came, she would find a way to shield
him from further harm. She had the means. Slowly, the anger drained
from her, and in its place was left unsettling fear and deep sorrow.
Unbidden tears formed, slipping silently from her eyes, wetting the
fabric of his uniform, until she cried herself to sleep.

---
Escape
---

"How touching."

Kes sat up, awakened by the voice, and the scrape of boots on the cave
floor. She glanced over her shoulder to Paris, and her throat
tightened with concern. He remained frozen in place, head tilted
backward and eyes closed. She knew he had not rested. His face had
gone from pale to ashen, the color drained from his lips, leaving them
a drawn, gray line. Despite his lecture to her, he had apparently not
slept and when he looked at her his eyes, darkened by pain, smoldered
in fatigue sunken hollows.

He nodded at her.  The slightest ghost of a genuine smile touched his
face and brought a brief light into his eyes. The smile was meant only
for her, to remind her of her promise, and was gone as quickly as it
had appeared, replaced by a deadly calm she found disturbing. He
intended on accepting whatever fate, and Melchor, served him, in the
hopes that she would escape unscathed. But she would not.

Coming slowly to her feet she stood an arms length from Melchor. "I've
thought about what you proposed..." she began.

"Kes, NO."

"I'm sorry, Tom."

---

Kes rose with the fluid graze of a hunting cat, not of someone who had
alternately, in the last three days, nearly frozen to death, and spent
two nights sleeping in cold caves on stone floors. She was tousled,
and her clothing smudged, but she exuded an air of feline vigor he
found unexpected and which Melchor, obviously found exciting.

"Kes." Paris called her name a second time, knowing full when what she
had in mind, knowing he couldn't stop her if Melchor took her up on
her offer, and yet he struggled against the bonds that held him
helpless. But she did not, or more likely would not, listen and he
could do nothing to stop her.

Kes moved slightly closer to Melchor, close but not quite touching, "I
need to go outside," she stated simply.

"You will. We all will."

"No," Kes said more firmly, "I need to go outside. Please. It's been a
long night, and I need a minute."

Paris shook his head, and despite the gravity of their situation, had
to stifle his laughter. When he realized what Kes was actually
requesting, the crestfallen look on Melchor's face, though brief, was
worth every ounce of discomfort. Melchor was certain he had won, so
self assured, convinced Kes was willing to do whatever he wanted.
Paris had to admit, he had been convinced himself, and chagrined to
admit, he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course, Melchor might
still prove to be right. Kes might be planning to go along with his
proposal, but for one glorious moment, Melchor lost control of the
situation.

Of course the moment was brief and short lived. He nodded to one of
his Kazon companions, who roughly took Kes by the arm and led her
toward the mouth of the cave.

"Is it dawn already?" Paris asked nonchalantly, covering his momentary
urge to laugh with a smart remark.

Melchor's face darkened. "You think you are so superior. Even now."
With a nod towards the second Kazon warrior, Melchor said, "Cut him
loose."

The young Kazon drew a long knife from his belt, stepped behind Paris
and quickly severed the cords that held him bound and immobile. With
no gentleness, he grabbed the young Human firmly by the arm and jerked
him to his feet. Though he had thought his arms numb from lack of
circulation, the sudden sharp movement elicited a tidal wave of pain
that left Paris battling to maintain his balance. His stomach churned,
and despite his best effort, a cry had escaped him. He quickly clamped
his lips shut, his long, in drawn, shuddering breaths the only sound
in the cavern, until the silence was broken by Melchor's self
satisfied chuckle.

"Not so tough," Melchor said. "Not so tough."

"So what happens now, Melchor?" Paris asked when he could trust his
voice again. The Kazon stood close, hand still clamped around Paris'
upper arm. The subtle pressure was sufficient to send jolts of pain
through arms that hung uselessly at his sides.

"As soon as your lady friend returns, you'll know."

"But it isn't dawn yet. You said dawn."

"Quiet." Melchor snapped. "This is my game. I make the rules."
Melchor's hand moved to the phaser at his side, fingers curling around
the weapon. His demeanor seemed less boastful. Last night's swagger
had been replaced by a nervous urgency.

Something had changed, Paris thought. Something had altered his plans
and Melchor was worried. "She's back," Paris said simply, nodding to
the darkness behind Melchor. Then with no warning, he launched himself
into the Kazon warrior that held him, driving with all the force of
his legs, slamming his guard hard into the side wall of the cave. The
Kazon grunted as his head struck a rocky protrusion with a sickening
crunch, then the momentum of his body carried Paris sideways and down,
the Kazon, stunned, falling atop him. Paris' arms where pinned, and
useless, so he pushed with his legs, struggling to break free and
capitalize on his advantage, when he heard Melchor's outraged curse.
Twisting his head, Paris found himself staring down the length of
Melchor's arm. Behind the phaser he held in a viselike grip, was a
face twisted with demented rage. Foam flecked his lips and Paris saw
his finger twitch reflexively on the firing mechanism.

That's it, I'm dead, Paris thought.

Then a ghostly apparition exploded from the darkened entrance, landing
on Melchor's back like a feral cat. Paris felt the heat of a phaser
discharge burn past his cheek, and the body on top of him went limp
amidst the odor of charred flesh, then a barely audible hissing sound
dropped Melchor and his attacker to the floor of the cave in a jumbled
heap. Paris pushed again, rolling the Kazon's weight off himself, just
as the heap that was Melchor, began to stir.

"Tom" came a muffled voice, then a grunt and Kes pulled herself free
from under Melchor.

"Are you all right?" Paris and Kes spoke in unison.

Paris had managed to lever himself to his feet, adrenaline giving him
the extra strength to stand upright, but the motion caused his head to
spin, and he leaned back against the wall. Kes was at his side
immediately.

"We've got to get out of here," she said in an urgent whisper.

"I know," he nodded agreement. "But Melchor..."

"I don't think we will need to worry about him for a couple of hours."

"We can't leave him."

Kes shook her head negatively. "We can't take him with us if we're
going to escape ourselves. If we can, we'll come back for him. Once we
contact Voyager."

Paris didn't miss the tone of doubt in her voice, or the anger just
below the surface of her words, and for a moment it took him by
surprise. Kes, gentle Kes, who would harm no one, hated Melchor, or
perhaps hated only what he had done. But Paris didn't miss the
sympathy behind the tough determination on her face either. Melchor
was insane. Driven there, perhaps, by the stress of their separation
from all that was familiar in the Alpha quadrant. He deserved their
help if not their pity, but there was no time for that now.

Without further word, Kes gently laid her hand on his arm and urged
him toward the cave's entrance. He could tell from the depth of the
darkness in the narrow passage that it was not yet daylight, but the
soft stirring of animal sounds as they approached the mouth signaled
dawn was near. They had to put as much distance between themselves and
the encampment as possible while they still had the cover of darkness.
They slipped through the edges of the strangely subdued and silent
Kazon camp. He did not protest as Kes unerringly led them into the
woods, remembering how well she navigated the brushy terrain, and he
followed mindlessly, focusing all his remaining strength on placing
one foot in front of the other and following her back. His hands and
arms throbbed and each step jolted through him amplifying the pain,
until simple walking became an excruciating challenge. It wasn't until
she stopped that he realized he had been moving in a haze, and was
shocked to know that he was completely disoriented. Swaying with the
effort to remain standing, he finally leaned his back against a tree
for support, cradling his broken hands in his midsection, he leaned
forward, waiting for his head to clear.

Kes turned to face him, the cold light of morning filtering through
the dense canopy of trees overhead. Her expression went from
determined to grim, then she stooped, and when she stood again, he
felt metal press against his throat and heard the soft hiss of a
hypospray.

"What..." he started to protest. "No, Kes, no drugs. I need to
think..."

"You're not thinking now," she said sternly. "You're barely walking.
This will help with the pain and contains a mild stimulant." She
looked down, then when she faced him again, she wore a guilty
expression. "I should have done that last night," she confessed, "but
I was afraid I might need it for morning."

"Last night?" Paris sounded dull and stupid, even to himself.

"Last night." Kes said again. "I had the hypo with me the whole time."

"Where?"

Kes smiled. "Trick a good friend taught me. In the top of my boot.
Melchor never looked. I wanted to use it last night. You were in pain.
But after what Melchor said," Kes looked away again, her expression
distressed, "after what he threatened to do to you, I saved it. I was
going to use it this morning. I wasn't going to let him or the Kazon,
hurt you again."

Slowly, the meaning of her words sunk in. She had planned on loading
him with enough pain killer to obliterate anything Melchor might have
done to him physically. "Melchor's no fool. He would have known
something was wrong and waited until the drug wore off." Paris had
caught his breath, the throbbing in his hands was subsiding to a dull
ache.

Kes said nothing.

"You weren't going to let him wait that long were you?" Paris wasn't
sure if he felt anger, or a surge of gratitude, that she would go to
such lengths for him. "You promised," he said simply.

"And I kept my promise. Nothing happened, Tom." Kes answered firmly,
taking him by the arm and urging him to move again. "And nothing will
if we get to that shuttle before he wakes up or the Kazon realize
we're missing."

They were moving again, through the brush. The gray morning light had
crept as far as the forest floor, lifting the gloom from the shadowed
depths. They could see where they were going now and moved more
quickly, and silently.

"There is one catch." Paris spoke to Kes' back. "If he's moved the
shuttle."

"Lets hope he was either too confident or too paranoid for that. I
think only he and I knew where the shuttle was. I believe he
deliberately kept the information from the Kazon. With luck, he didn't
move it, either because he never thought we would be a threat, or
because he didn't want the Kazon following him to its location."

There was little more to say on the subject, and Paris strained his
ears to detect any sounds that would indicate they were followed. When
Melchor regained consciousness, he would go straight to the shuttle,
there was no doubt of that. The remaining distance was covered in
silence, and as they approached a small clearing the sun had peaked
far enough above the horizon to brightly light the small meadow. Paris
felt a rush of relief. Roughly covered with broken limbs for
camouflage, the shuttle stood. Kes stopped him at the edge of the
clearing, and they crouched for a few minutes to make certain there
was no movement in the shuttle, then she edged cautiously toward the
silent vehicle. Laying her hand on the locking mechanism, Paris heard
both the hiss of the lock and the release of her breath at the same
time. Then, he realized, he'd been holding his own breath as well.

Quickly, they clambered aboard, moving to the forward section. Then, a
foot from the pilot's seat, Paris stopped, looked helplessly at his
hands. "You'll have to fly us out, Kes."

"I know."

"Then let's get to it."

---
Conclusion
---


Kes slid into the co-pilot's seat, taking a deep breath to calm her
suddenly shaking hands. She could do this. She had passed all the
basic flight instruction courses. She had flown on more than one
occasion, though always with a trained pilot in the seat next to her,
prepared to take over if there was any difficulty.

There's still a trained pilot in the other seat, she told herself,
glancing sideways to where Paris sat. He held himself upright, the
strain of the past days evident in the set of his jaw and paleness of
his skin. He was conscious by act of will and the stimulant she had
pumped into him less than an hour ago. She wondered if she looked much
better herself. But he was there. She smiled at him and he nodded
back.

Without further delay she began the preflight checks, rapidly
switching on systems, and breathing easier as each responded with a
ready signal. Melchor evidently had not thought to place a security
lock out any vital systems.

"Initializing fusion reaction system." she said out loud. "Anti-grav
units, on-line. Impulse and warp drives, on-line." She spoke each step
like a soothing mantra.

Paris verified her readings as each system was activated.

"Ready." Kes said firmly, her hands rested on the control console.

She looked at Paris again.

"She's all yours," he said quietly.

Kes took a deep breath, then moved her fingers over the shuttle's main
controls. There was a scraping sound at the ship pulled free of the
camouflage, the branches sloughing away like chaff. Effortlessly,
almost soundlessly, the small craft rose into the air. Determined to
make the flight as smooth as possible, not wanting to jostle her
companion any more than necessary, Kes cleared the trees surrounding
the meadow. The shuttle rose quickly, angling upward to clear the
planet's atmosphere.

"You need to correct your angle of ascent, approximately three
degrees," Paris said.

Kes nodded, then risked a glance at her passenger. Paris still sat
tensely. He must be afraid of my flying, she thought, feeling a wry
grin tug at her mouth, then realizing how much that grin must mirror
the one she had come to associate with Tom Paris. "My flying makes you
nervous." she said teasingly, trying to break the tension, for both
him and herself.

"No," Paris said quickly. "I know you can do it."

"You certainly don't look like you do." Kes teased again.

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

"Melchor," Paris answered simply.

Kes felt a surge of guilt. "We couldn't bring him with us, Tom. I
couldn't carry him, and neither could you."

"I know."

"What else."

"Was it just me, or did the Kazon camp seem too quiet?"

"It seemed deserted," Kes agreed. She was silent for a moment as she
concentrated on maintaining the ship at a stable angle while they
passed through the turbulence in the upper atmosphere.

"And Melchor was different. Nervous. Like the plan had changed during
the night and he wasn't sure where he stood any more."

Before Kes could think of a suitable answer, they had slipped beyond
the bounds of the planet's atmosphere, and into space, the indigo hues
of the upper stratosphere giving way to the star spattered blackness
of space. She felt an overwhelming awe as she guided the shuttle into
the cosmos that a scant two years before had been little more than a
fairy tale, and once again she marveled at her fortune. So intent was
she on piloting that she did not at first realize they were completely
and totally alone. Glancing at her companion, she read his unasked
question, then spoke her own. "Where's Voyager?"

Paris shook his head, frowning as he glanced over the sensor readings.
"Sensor's aren't picking up anything. No other ships in sensor range."
He looked at her, then quickly added. "Which doesn't mean they aren't
here. They could be on the far side of the planet, in which case, it
is shielding Voyager from our sensors."

"What do we do next?"

"Assume standard orbit. We'll be on the other side of the planet in
fifteen to twenty minutes. If Voyager is there, we'll run right into
her."

Kes could tell that Paris was attempting to keep his tone light for
her sake, but he was obviously as disappointed as she that Voyager was
not in their immediate vicinity.

"We've achieved standard orbit." Kes sat back from the controls,
breathing a sigh of relief. She looked again at Paris. He leaned back
in the contours of his seat, hands cradled limp and useless on his
lap. She moved to his side, laid a hand on his forehead. He was far
too warm, two bright spots of pink the only color on a face far too
pale. He needed medical attention and needed it now "How do you feel?"
she asked.

"Hungry," he answered without opening his eyes.

"I think I can take care of that, but first..."

---

Paris didn't hear the end of Kes' sentence as she quickly walked to
the rear of the shuttle. He listened to the sounds of her moving,
heard the hum of the replicator, all so familiar. Opening his eyes, he
staring into the empty space before and around them. What if there
were no Voyager? If they did not locate her within a reasonable amount
of time, they would be forced to return to the surface. He wasn't sure
he was ready to test his survival skills again just yet, not with a
couple dozen angry Kazon and one crazy human on their heels. And they
could not forge out into uncharted space in search of their comrades
if they didn't know where the ship had gone. He should check for warp
signatures, try to locate her trail. Sitting up, cursing the
sluggishness of his own thoughts, for not beginning the procedure as
soon as they cleared the interference generated by the planet's
atmosphere, He reached for the sensor touch padds. Halfway through the
movement, he stopped. He hadn't really looked at his hands. Not since
the Kazon had finished with them. A queasy knot formed in the pit of
his stomach, and he decided he didn't want to look now.

As he sat staring dumbly at twisted, bruise-darkened fingers, a
slender white hand gently covered his own. He looked up to see Kes,
concern etched on her delicate features.

"I can give you more pain killer," she offered.

"No, it's not that bad. I just...hadn't... looked..." Paris voice
trailed off, as he swallowed the bile rising quickly in his throat.

Kes turned his seat so he faced her. Something warm was laid across
his knees, then she deftly cut the sleeves of his uniform. Gently, she
began to wrap the warm dressing around his injured right hand.
Preferring not to watch, he concentrated on her face as she worked,
studying every sculpted nuance, every changing expression.

"This isn't a cure," she said. "You'll need surgery to correct the
damage. But this will provide support and some relief from the pain
until we get you back to Sick Bay."

It was only then that Paris looked down. She had encased his hand in a
foam like substance, firm enough to prevent movement, but light enough
to feel almost nonexistent. "What is it?"

"A splint of sorts. I replicated some of the material used for packing
and insulating delicate electronic machinery for long term shipping
and storage. It should do the trick."

Paris raised his right hand, which now looked more like a primeval
club. "Would probably come in real handy in a bar fight too," he said
half to himself.

"What was that?" Kes asked.

"Thank you."

"And thank, you."

Paris laughed. "For what, Kes? For getting you stranded here, then
captured by a madman, who threatened to--" Paris felt the laughter
slip from his voice.

"None of which was your fault." Kes face shifted from concern, to
gratitude. "I was thanking you for saving my life, Tom. Without you, I
would have frozen to death, then none of the above would have
mattered."

"And we would never have been caught in the storm to start with if
Melchor..."

"Melchor," Kes said firmly. "Not Tom Paris."

They sat silently, her face inches from his, her blue eyes intent,
until Paris leaned away from her, not trusting the odd, old feeling
that suddenly hit him hard and strong. After all that had happened, he
still wasn't sure he could trust himself alone with her, and he needed
to break contact with those probing, sensitive eyes. She read him too
well, and he did not want her to read what he felt at that moment, or
he would have more to explain to Neelix than he wanted. It would be
interesting enough explaining why she still wore his shirt and he did
not.

Kes must have sensed and shared his rush of discomfort, because she
quickly stood and walked again to the rear of the vessel, then
returned, carrying a steaming mug. Whatever was in it smelled damned
good, he told himself.

"Chicken soup," Kes answered, before he had a chance to ask. "Ensign
Wildman strongly recommended it for a variety of ills. Though I must
admit the Doctor says it has no particular medicinal value."

Paris started to reach for the hot mug, then realized there was no way
he could handle it himself. Kes knelt down beside his chair again, and
cautiously held the brew to his lips. The first sip seared the tip of
his tongue, but he didn't care. He was hungry enough to eat a bear.
Kes helped him to a second sip.

"I feel like a--"

"--baby?" Kes asked, her eyes twinkling.

---

Kes smiled at her patient, relaxed, and for the first time in days
truly hopeful that the adventure they so innocently embarked upon
would end well. She was about to offer him another sip from the still
hot cup, when the smile that had begun to tug at the corners of his
mouth, turned downward. He sat staring out the front port.

"Damn," he muttered.

Kes turned, glancing over her shoulder. They had been in orbit barely
fifteen minutes. Ahead, at the curving edge of the planet's boundary,
sat Voyager, regal in her stillness, hard light from this system's sun
glinting off her outer shell so she shown like a crystal vase.

"That explains why the Kazon camp was so quiet. And why Melchor was so
nervous." Paris nodded to the scene playing out before them.

Fifteen Kazon vessels of varying sizes, harried Voyager, pounding her
with a steady barrage of fire from all angles. While none of them was
as large as Voyager, their combined fire-power was enough to inflict
serious damage if they found weakness in the larger ship's shields.

"Melchor's friends evidently decided they didn't need him, his
schemes, or his shuttle. They had bigger fish to catch." Paris leaned
forward in his seat, intent on the ensuing conflict.

"What do we do now?" Kes asked, slipping into the co-pilot's seat. She
automatically raised the shuttle's shields, her hands poised over the
flight controls.

Paris glanced at her. "Voyager may be looking for us. She may not
leave until she knows we're safe...or dead. She can't drop her shield
to let us back on board. If we try to contact her we may be able to
draw off a few of them."

"They should have picked us up on their sensors by now," Kes said.

"Yeah. And they're keeping quiet so the Kazon don't notice us too
soon."

As he spoke three of the Kazon ships broke off their attack and turned
in the direction of the approaching shuttle.

"Seems its a moot point now, Kes." Paris was silent for a moment.
"Remember the training exercise we did, avoidance tactics, flying
though an asteroid or debris field."

"Yes." Kes tried to keep her voice level and calm, though she had a
good idea what he was going to suggest.

"Well, combat maneuvers are a bit different, but some things are the
same. I want you to do exactly what I say, even if it makes no sense
at the time. Agreed."

Kes nodded. "I understand."

"It is essential that you do what I say, the instant I say to do it."

"Understood."

Paris leaned forward, his splinted hands at the edge of the control
panel. "We're going to start with evasive pattern Omega. On my mark."

Kes bit her lip as Paris proceeded to snap commands at her, commands
that sent the small craft she piloted spiraling and diving, in and
around the three vessels that pursued it. Each rapid change in
direction sent her heart into her throat, the shuttle groaning as she
banked too sharply or nor sharply enough. She felt as though they were
floundering, not flying with the grace and art Paris would have
demonstrated. She sensed his frustration as she rolled too sharply to
port bringing them up on a collision course with one of the Kazon, a
collision barely avoided. Then an idea struck her and she berated
herself for not thinking of it sooner. She could do more than
anticipate his orders, she could think them with him. Carefully, she
reached out to him, opening her thoughts in the hope she would sense
what he wanted her to do before he spoke it. The touch was tentative
at first, then stronger as her confidence grew, her hands flew across
the controls, almost in sync with his thoughts, sensing his orders
before they were verbally given. The flight path of the shuttle
settled into a dance, fluid, almost flawless. They worked their way
closer to Voyager.

Then dimly, she heard a voice, Kim's voice. "Paris, Kes,
Melchor...this is Voyager. Do you read."

"Yeah, Harry, we read. Good to hear your voice," Paris answered.

"Tom." Kes could hear the excitement and relief in Kim's response. "If
you can approach closely enough, we can drop our shields long enough
to allow you inside them. Do you think you can shake the vessels that
are pursuing you."

"Maybe. This one guy's hugging us pretty close. But maybe."

Kes watched in fascination as a barrage of phaser fire flickered from
the weapons banks of the starship in front of them. Great gouts of
searing energy sliced through the blackness touching the Kazon ships,
with deadly force. Two of their vessels exploded in fireballs that
blossomed outward, filling the darkness with shattered, flaming
debris. The Kazon responded by doubling the ferocity of their attack,
but the tactic worked. All but one of the ships attacking the shuttle
were drawn back to Voyager. One remained, close on their heels,
battering relentlessly at their aft shields with volley after volley
of weapons fire. Dodging and twisting, they were not able to shake
their pursuer.

"Kes," Paris said at last. "Set a course straight for Voyager."

"Straight?" she repeated, though she knew, in her mind she had heard
him correctly.

"Straight. Don't change course unless I tell you to."

Kes heard a bleep as the comm system was reactivated. "Harry, this it
Paris."

"Yes."

"Can you drop the shields on my mark."

There was pause while Kim talked with someone else. "Yes."

"Okay. Stand by."

Kes held perfectly still. In less than ten seconds they would collide
with Voyager's shields.

"Kes, when I give you the word, tilt your nose up about eight degrees,
then arc downward into a 360. Ready..."

Kes didn't remember hearing the next command, she simply responded, as
though his mind controlled her hands. In the instant before they
struck Voyager's shields, the shuttle's path shifted subtly and sent
them skimming along the surface of the shields, tracing the arc of its
outer boundary, and down under Voyager's belly. With little warning,
Paris commanded her to bring the shuttle to a full, heart rending
stop.

"Drop them now, Harry." Paris snapped.

"We've got you," Kim's voice echoed the relief pounding through Kes in
time to the beat of her heart. "The Kazon didn't quite make that last
turn. He hit the shields at just the right angle and bounced off into
space."

"I know." Paris answered.

Kes turned in time to catch his characteristically cocky grin.

"And the other Kazon?"

"Breaking off their attack and pulling back." Kim answered. "We'll
have time to get you on board. Shuttle bay doors are open."

"That was an interesting maneuver, Mr. Paris." This time it was
Captain Janeway's voice.

"Why thank you, Captain. Couldn't have done it without Kes." "

"And tell me, Mr. Paris," Janeway added, "did you also make a habit of
skipping stones when you were a child?"

Kes did not miss the pride hidden in the Captain's amused query.

"Only in the reflecting pool in front of Starfleet Headquarters."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Janeway concluded.

"Captain," Paris spoke again. "The other landing parties?"

"Were safely recovered from the planet's surface before the Kazon, or
the storm struck. The only ones we missed were you, Kes and Melchor. I
assume you three ready to come home now?"

Kes glanced at Tom, his face once again unreadable as he briefly
updated his commanding officer on the situation. "There are only two
of us, Captain. Melchor was left behind on the planet's surface. He
has apparently gone over to the Kazon."

There was a long, unbroken silence. Kes could imagine Janeway's
reaction, see the look on her face. She would be bitterly disappointed
about Melchor, as she had been Seska and then Jonas defected. The
Captain felt personally responsible for all of her crew members and
each death, each defection, hurt more than she allowed the rest of the
crew to realize.

"He wasn't dead, Captain," Paris continued. "But we weren't able to
bring him out with us. Not if we were to escape with the shuttle
intact."

"I will expect a full report as soon as you and Kes are on board, Mr.
Paris. So that we can decide what action is to be taken. In the
meantime, we're glad you're back safely."

"Captain," Kes, chimed in, "please inform the Doctor that Tom has been
injured and will require medical assistance."

"Do you want us to tractor you in and beam you directly to Sick Bay."
The Captain's voice echoed her concern.

"No, Captain," Paris answered quickly. "No need." He nodded at Kes.
"We can land on our own. We're in good hands. Paris out."

Paris leaned back, and breathed a deep sigh. For a moment Kes thought
he had passed out.

"Tom. Tom, are you all right."

---

The End